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tintinn16 · 14 days ago

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homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe �� or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

1K notes · View notes

tintinn16 · 23 days ago

Note

Uh oh, well i still hope the mystery woman turns out to be Kat😂

I am completely obsessed with Closed Position and your version of our lovable trash panda. I can’t wait to see what happens with Dieter and his Kit Kat. 💃🏻🕺🏽

Are there any fun facts or extras you can share with us? Or maybe a teaser?

Thanks for the ask about Closed Position Anon!

Hmmm…how about a little of both?

✨Fun Fact: Dieter has several pet names for Kat. There is one very common one that an individual often calls their significant other that he has never called her & never will. Anyone want to take a guess on what it is & why?

✨Teaser: We've got two new Dieter Instagram posts that tease some things going down in the next chapter. Make sure you read the caption & replies.

We also have a news headline. Any guesses as to what's going on? I'll be awaiting the torches & pitchforks as I hide in my undisclosed secret location. 😬

💜Mysty

BREAKING NEWS:

CP Taglist: @titlee78 @legendary-pink-dot @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin

@cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza

@girlofchaos @trulybetty @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer

@darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions

@myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime @copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter

@burntheedges @stevie75 @bunniboo0015 @quicax3 @jackie923

@sherala007 @pastelnap @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @jessthebaker @rebel-held

@gwendibleywrites @senorabond @annalovesflorida @sandaltoesocks @katw474

@txlady37 @inkmonster21 @sunnytuliptime @jeewrites @fifitheragertot

@pasc4lfuzz @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @lizzie-cakes @insomniacdreammerbb

@peepawispunk

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo

75 notes · View notes

tintinn16 · 29 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 | Marcus Acacius x f!reader

summary | A female gladiator plucked from the arena by the most powerful general in Rome, convinced to serve under his command. You learn that his taste for blood might not be so different from your own.

author's note | the horny demons strike again. this has a little plot, thanks to the beautiful minds of @ovaryacted and @kedsandtubesocks who deal with my crazy so generously.

content warning | 18+ mdni, set pre-gladiator ii, description of war & mistreatment of women in roman society, female gladiator, dark-ish!acacius, reader has minimal backstory, but is revealed to be nameless (uses monikers given to her: medusa, fury, minerva), fighting, m*rder, blood tw, gore tw, sa warning (i have it annotated further below with content, but nothing graphic) acacius covered in someone elses blood as he fucks you, copious smut, biting as a little treat

word count — 8k

“How much?” Acacius inquires, tapping his finger against the iron bars holding you prisoner, staring back at the men. The ginger twins and a man—no, a general. Dressed in a toga of thick material, embroidered with intricate designs, gold bangles at his wrist, a telltale sign of high honor.

“Oh, she is…” The older one, Geta, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he shakes his head, “priceless—quite the fighter, too.”

“Does she have a name?”

Geta smirks to himself, “They call her Medusa. She favors beheading, it seems.” Geta waggles a finger through the bars and smirks, nose scrunching as he addresses you, “Correct?”

You ignore him, responding with a stare—much like your given moniker; if looks could kill.

“She’s bested them all,” Caracalla boasts from beside his brother, Dundus fiddling with his hair from where she was perched on his shoulder, “even our lion that we’ve had since kids.”

“It was a stupid idea, your fault,” Geta retorts, “but—again, she’s not for sale.”

“I’ll conquer India within the next few nightfalls, a handful of new gladiators fresh for the choosing, for your entertainment—how does that sound?”

Greedy as they were and entirely too incompetent, Caracalla agrees before his brother can open his mouth.

“Will you bring her back to visit?” Caracalla inquires with an underlying excitement—the poor brother was nothing but a dunce, erratic and impulsive, but all too easy to manipulate. “The others may miss her.”

“Indeed,” Another swift but convincing lie, Caracalla and Acacius shake hands on the deal before Geta can retort, fuming with rage as he stomps away.

He’d taken a liking to your fighting style despite his distaste for the arena. Strategic and skilled, brute strength and a drive that was built around pure survival but somehow all while maintaining the perfect amount of gracefulness that men did not. Constant calculation, finesse, it was like an art.

He’s gone through several guards over his rule, some from sacrifice but others out of pure ignorance. He needed a strong base, malleable but resistant. He could shape you into a leader, he thinks. He knows.

Your hard stare is like ice as the keys jingle into the lock, a defining click a resounding echo of freedom and General Acacius extends his palm.

A gesture of freedom, a new life, trepidation fills you despite your yearn for a way out of this prison. Here it was, served up on a platter covered in intricate facets of white and gold, stubble brushing his cheeks and soft brown eyes offering kindness.

This was not a man of sheer violence, not the tales they tell about him—this was a man of trouble, conflict, and an instinct to protect himself. And he’d chosen you.

Your hands slips into his, a similar roughness to match his own and scars that Acacius knew well enough of—you were a true fighter, a warrior.

The two boys—calling the men would be too easy, they often acted like spoiled children, were already off to their own chambers, and Acacius had only dropped his hard facade slightly, still under the watchful eye of Rome’s guards, he led you onto your new life.

“I cannot accept,” You argue, as respectful as you could manage, hands crossed firmly over your front, near your waist as you spoke to General Acacius in his private office at home, a place few have stepped foot into, but yet somehow, again, you were given a free pass.

“Are you refusing my order?” Acacius counters, there’s pillowyness to his tone, almost taunting.

“Sir—er, General,” It was all new to you, formalities, structure, rules, “I…am a woman.”

“I am not blind,” Acacius squints his eyes slightly, before leaning back in the creaky chair, “my men—they will not question my choices. They listen, they do their duties. They need strong leadership. Gladiator, I believe you can bestow that upon them.”

“I am a stranger to you, you know nothing of me,” You tell him, a full truth, “General, I fear you may have made the wrong decision, I am not what you think I—”

Silently, Acacius fingers curl around the handle to a drawer hidden behind his desk, pulling out a sharp knife with a handle carved of bone, twisting it in his grip before he’s rearing his arm back, throwing it in your direction.

It zips by with force, the tip of the knife snagging and burying itself deep into the wall behind you, your head whipping to the side to follow it, the sharp blade barely missing the skin of your ear.

Quick reflexes. You turn back to a smirking Acacius.

“I am positive, had I thrown that between your eyes you would have caught it without overthinking the consequences—most of my men would do the same,” Acacius lectures, standing with his brutish frame and walking toward the wall, the soft flow of a breeze kissing at your fists.

“Though, I have another proposition,” Acacius says lightly, twisting the knife in his hand, the pointing spinning against his fingertip as he circles around you, “—attack me.”

“Sir,” You argue, “that surely defeats the purpose of—”

His fist balls up tight and aims for your side. Acacius sees it, the anticipation as you block his hand. He chuckles underneath his breath, “Please, continue,” He teases, twisting out of your grip to pull another punch that you block with ease—he was going easy, you think.

Natural reaction takes hold and his test quickly turns into a full-out brawl, twisting and slipping underneath his grip until you have him pinned against a nearby wall, teeth bared with his forearm pressed against his throat, struggling to grip his free arm.

The real test is here, as Acacius bares the knife near your neck, an immediate reaction to protect yourself rather than go for the kill shot, knowing that anyone of normal skill would be too full of bloodlust to think of anything other than killing you. Protection and defense came first, taking the small nick of a cut to your own forearm before you’re knocking the knife out of his hand and wrestling him to the ground with a swift kick to his leg, rendering him helpless.

“Indeed, you are exactly what I think you are,” Acacius says with finality, “I want you to lead my personal guard. Whatever it is I must do to obtain that, my lady I will do—riches, bribery—”

You push away from him with a heavy exhale, standing and adjusting your clothes, brushing your hair away from your face, “No need, I will do it.”

Acacius rolls to his back, hand extending once more.

This time, it is you offering the help as he uses the leverage to rise to his feet before speaking to you with a triumphant tone.

“Commander,” He grins, “let us plan.”

–

He often asks of your lineage, your home. But, there is nothing to offer. A long conquered piece of land now under the rule of Rome and a home that was never a home. An orphan you had always been, nameless, taking greedily whatever name was bestowed upon you.

In the arena it was Medusa, the tale of a vicious woman with god-like power. Caracalla had told you of the story, the boys having taken a liking to you in different ways. Geta was fiendish, hungry, often seeking you out for his own pleasure to which you wouldn’t deny. Couldn’t. He could be rough, but he wasn’t.

He seemed lonely, the poor boy.

Carcalla was only searching for a friend despite his unruly, chaotic nature. When he wasn’t ruling with tyranny over Rome, terrorizing the townspeople, he was telling you stories.

Other times it was only she. Or her. Or just girl. The girl.

You were only what people assumed of you, expected you to be.

“Medusa, ay?” A greasy looking man confirms, one of the six men who were to be under your command, “The gladiator?”

“You will respect her,” General Acacius had warned them, “or an apology will be your dying breath.”

It had struck most of them with fear. Most of them.

And for many nights, countless, it seems—the transition of leadership was smooth. You had an unyielding grip on them, awaiting direction, following your orders. It was the kind of rush most would only dream of, and as a woman, it was an unforeseen privilege.

“They address you as Medusa, too,” Acacius notes during a roundtable session as the other men wander off for dinner, “do you wish for them to address you differently?”

“I have no name, General,” You admit, “I am whatever I must be. If they think of me as so, that is what I am. Though, I would love to turn a few of them into stone, given I was granted her powers.”

“I believe you could manage that feat without them,” Acacius jokes, “—but, nameless? Even at birth?”

“I know nothing of my birth parents. They told me I was found wrapped in cloth under the bridge that led into the town your army eventually turned to rubble,” A bittersweet feeling, speaking unusually out of term, facing him with the facts, “though, it does not matter. I enjoy the fear they have of me, keeps wandering hands at bay.”

Such an enigma, Acacius eyes you curiously. It was the most you’ve opened up to him since retrieving you from your cell, and even then, still forcing him to face the consequences of war.

The guilt followed him at every waking moment.

“Do you need anything further of me, General?” You ask politely, “You have spoiled my appetite as of late and your men are greedy with the stew.”

“You are dismissed,” He speaks distantly, turning over the thick, coarse paper with a drawn out map of the territory they were to invade soon, a lingering well wish leaving his lips, “sleep well, commander.”

Unfortunately, you’ve turned to sleeping with a knife under your bedroll—with a lingering ache of betrayal, you weren’t allowing yourself to lower your guard.

The attacks do not start at night. Rather during the day, when the General is off and away, scouting ahead further when half of his army while the other half sticks at camp, keeping claim.

That is when the insults come, the disbelief, the mockery.

Most of his men settled with the idea, having accepted your position even if it displeased them.

But, there was one. Like a bull—hardheaded and stocky, fists and arms like clubs, testosterone radiating from his body in crashing waves. He wants you to fear him, submit to him.

You feel it. You see it. And you’ve been through it before, other large and brutish gladiators thinking with their muscles rather than their brains. It wouldn’t take long for them to meet their demise, but this one was…different.

He approaches you with a smile than anyone could see right through, a finger brushing your cheek as he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in to brush his lips against the shell of it.

“They are hungry,” He drips of vicious intention, “—I say, you give us a show. Entertain us, Medusa.”

Your eyes snap to him, staring him down.

“Pitiful Acacius isn’t here to save you,” He warns, “though, I have reason to believe he is as weak as most men—spread your legs and he’ll be begging for a taste, too.”

“I will gut you where you stand,” You warn, reaching for the thick machete at your waist, “you’re like a pig. Brainless and greedy for whatever you can get. Touch me, I dare you.”

The rest of the men are relatively quiet, but they do not stop him. Smirks and half-smiles hidden behind their cups, lounging on a log near their tents, enjoying the entertainment.

It was nightfall, the fire crackling between you and them, a towering presence at your backside.

And as he dares to, his hand slides up your waist.

Without hesitation you flip the weapon in your grip, grabbing at his wrist and slicing at his arm—a featherlight touch, it was merrily a glorified papercut, but his eyes widened in shock.

“Let us see how well you touch without fingers,” You threaten, flipping the machete until it is pointing in his face, death grip on the handle if he dared to take it, taunting him with the sharp end of your blade, “hands?”

That deep, rumbling sound of hooves approaches through the darkness, everyone slowly falling back into their paces as you welcome back your General with a forced smile.

Acacius hands off the reins to another rider, taking scope of the situation that seemed to be defusing in front of him, but still—he notices. His eyes trade glances between you both before he nods at you to follow him.

Speaking under his breath, “The others have coined you as fury,” He laughs softly at the pseudonym, “little fury, they tell me. Like the Furies. I cannot say I disagree with them. Has he been pestering you long?”

Your brow furrows at the reference, lost on your ill-informed mind.

“Long enough,” You answer honestly, “though, he was bestowed a parting gift this time.”

You raise your blade, his blood still painting the weapon.

He raises the curtain to his tent, allowing you to enter before him.

“Do you know nothing of the Furies?”

“I was not privy to bedtime tales, General.”

He nods, thoughtful as his lips pull together in a thin line, slowly removing his armor as he sits, directing for you to take a seat opposite of him, a few feet away on a decaying stump.

“Goddesses,” He states simply, “of vengeance, striking the wicked down. You have…fire, deep within you. Do not let them put it out, it is your weapon.”

You nod obediently, feeling the humidity stick to your skin, clothes glued to your body as you sit in the uncomfortable heat. There was no world in which you felt safe enough to strip down, quell your body of this unbearable summer weather. You would rather suffer, thick garb covering your body.

Acacius tilts his head, but does not comment.

“I require your protection tomorrow, we must scout an additional day and I fear danger is imminent—relay this to them,” He instructs, “and my lady, if you fear they will visit you at night, that they might strike when you’re vulnerable, you are welcome here.”

He already anticipates your response—he knows, but the gesture was an offer. A kindness.

“If they try, you will be searching for new men by sunrise, General.”

Acacius smirks in amusement, nodding to your words.

“It would not be difficult to replace them,” He notes, “though, little fury, you are irreplaceable.”

General Acacius wasn’t an easy man to protect, but you managed. Over the few weeks that you had taken point within his guard it has leant you plenty of opportunities to prove your worth, slaughtering opposing soldiers like cattle for the glory of Rome, his booming voice pronouncing vie victis as the dead are laid rest under fire and smoke.

But, conflict comes when you are faced with a decision as the camp was raided under complete, utter darkness. It was your shift to guard the General, perched outside of his tent with constant, roaming eyes. Eventually, you drift. It was peaceful, nature taking hold and pulling you under, awoken to the sound of blood curdling screams, the ground painted with the innards of both Acacius’ men and the others.

You were forced with a choice—defend the camp, something Acacius would have told you to do in a moment of desperation, a self-sacrificing man himself. Ironic, given your position, that you even think otherwise. Of course, your feet pull you toward him, whipping the flowing fabric of his tent door back.

There was a knife at his neck, a man towering over him. He’d snuck past—taken advantage of your exhaustion and your mistake was putting the General’s life at risk, his face stoic as he pushed back against the blade with his palm.

Without thinking, you rush toward the man, pulling back at his collar to plunge the knife pointed at Acacius into his own throat, a silent death through the notch of his neck, the blood flowing out like a river, tossing the lifeless man to the side before you’re reaching for your General.

“Do not worry,” He assures you as he rises, still groggy from sleep, “go—protect our camp.”

“But, General,” You plead, not realizing that your hand was grasping on his own, or that he had initiated the touch as a gentle push, a confirmation that he was truly alright, “it is my fault.”

His eyes peer behind you and to the man lying lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around his body.

“Though, it seems you have done your duty,” Acacius comments, head turned down as he stares at the body before his eyes peer up at you under his dark lashes, pensive, “now—kill them.”

You had lost a hundred or so men, nothing to the army of five thousand, but any loss was felt within General Acacius’ army—men of honor, with families or not, deserved a proper farewell.

Covered in the blood of many, some of your friends and some of strangers, hair matted and reeking of death, you approach General Acacius who was sending off a group of men to begin digging the mass grave to dispose of the bodies.

Your body ached, bruised and nicked from battle—you had killed at least five hundred men alone. Pure rage and fury, not a memory of it as you approached him now, a blank stare void of emotion that concerns Acacius, his hand reaching for your wrist as you begin to pass him, heading for your own tent to collapse in exhaustion.

“You did well,” He notes, catching your gaze as he turns his head to infiltrate your line of sight, “wash off before you turn in, you…reek. There’s a river beyond the bend—clean, warm.”

You nod despite only paying half-attention to his words, walking mindlessly toward the river before you are faced with the unfortunate crowd of men, undressed to their natural state, avoiding the watchful eyes and preying gazes, stripping your armor off down near the empty end of the river, pulling at your tangled hair, pulling off each remaining piece of clothing despite your body’s protest, screaming for relief.

It wasn’t unfamiliar, the looks—you bathed alongside all the men under the arena without a thought, knowing most of them were vying for freedom and wouldn’t dare risk it by allowing their cocks to work overtime, forgetting rational thought.

But, to them, you were a trophy. Someone—something, to be conquered.

The thin, flimsy undergarments come off last, stepping into the water and sinking down slowly. The blood washes away as you scrub, back turned as you dip your head into the water before committing entirely, plugging your nose as you dip underneath the water, finding peace in the silence.

“I had my doubts, Medusa,” A voice bellows from behind as you rise, your eyes peeling open with a quickly growing annoyance, “of you being a true woman, but—”

“Careful,” One of the men warned, a stable boy, “she will run to the general.”

It was the same man from many nights ago, big and brutish, always looking for a fight, even with the other men. He hadn’t learned his lesson, clearly.

“Acacius is busy,” He retorts, “so—what say you give us the show you owe us?”

You stand frozen in place, staring daggers at the man who seems only more amused as the anger in you builds, permeates.

(sa themes below: noncon touching, reader is naked in front of several men)

“Get out of the water,” He demands, “unless you prefer I come get you.”

You survey your choices, knowing that staying in the water wasn’t a safe option. They can and will wait you out. Your eyes track toward your clothes, further away than you had left them. Your eyes track the scar on his forearm and you smirk, teething peeking out behind your lips, “How beautiful,” You tell him, his eyes slowly following your own, “quite the scar, is it not? Fancy another?”

You spot the knife sheathed in his leather belt, taking your chances despite the vulnerability that remains with your naked frame on full display as you retreat from the water, he nods with confidence as you approach, a faint whistle in the distance that you’ve heard before. The oaf seems to ignore it, though. His large hand comes to your breast in an instant, body dripping wet and a sickness churning in your gut as the sticks of torch and fire approach amongst the murmuring crowd of men, less than subtle about the rowdiness that was ensuing.

He pulls you into his body with a greedy hunger as his opposite hands gropes at your backside, following the curve of your ass as your hand snakes toward the blade, but the voice that rips through the crowd is enough to wake the dead, silence falling over the area in an instant.

“Remove your hand,” Acacius voice travels, the same booming voice he uses to declare victory over a new territory, “or I will remove it myself.”

“General,” The man addressed in a drunkish manner, inviting, “she was offering—Medusa, tell him.”

Your silence is expected, his hand wandering toward your other breast, biting hard enough at the inside of your cheek that it draws blood—Acacius sees your hand wrapping around the blade and speaks again, approaches closer as the mud sticks to his boots, “I will tell you once more. Remove it.”

The man eyes you with disdain, dropping his hands away as you relinquish your hold of his weapon, allowing the breath caught in your chest to escape, but it doesn’t stop the touch that follows, taunting with its intention as his palm curls around the back of your head, tilting your head to the side as he squeezes, “I forget—you are the General’s property after all.”

(end of sa themes)

“Take him,” He orders the other lingering guards, men who’ve never shown you anything other than respect—they value their lives and limbs, as any sane person would, “and start the fire.”

Acacius looks around at the lingering eyes, “I suggest all of you return to camp. Now.”

That was all it took, most of them scrambling for their own clothes and armor as they retreated like scurrying mice or dogs with their tail between their legs, leaving you under Acacius' careful gaze. He reaches down to fetch you dirtied clothes, looking them over with disgust.

He removes the black cape around his shoulders without a word, opening it as an offering. Desperate to cover yourself, you slip your arms in the sleeves with his help, his eyes wandering no further than your face as you turn to him, tucking the cape around yourself. He reaches for the hood, pulling it down.

“Come,” He demands, “I would like you to witness.”

–

The screams are audible as you approach camp, a few feet behind Acacius as he rounds the fire and separates the crowd to create a path, approaching the man bound at his feet, one arm roped at his side and secured away, leaving him to fight the men that held him down.

“General, gen—general, I am sorry,” He pleads, “she—you do not understand, she taunts. She is poison, not a leader,” He continues, despite Acacius lack of response, making a motion with his hand to remove the man’s weapon and hand it to him, pulling it from it’s leather cover and examining the blade, he makes a soft sound to himself, “Acacius—you have known me for years. Do not let this woman trick you.”

“Gag him,” He ignores his pleading, leaning down to grip the hand of the man bound below, “your humility is amusing, but your greed is what is costing you. She has shown you mercy, but I will not.”

The cut isn’t a clean slice, either. It takes several swings before the limb detaches, blood spurting out of the appendage as the man screams in pain, dragged helplessly toward the fire before they’re cauterizing the wound—your body unreactive as you watch but silently stewing with frustration.

He had spared the man, sure. But, making a show of it? A mockery?

“Commander, with me,” General Acacius demands, waiting for you to snap back into reality, your eyes meeting his face, blood covering his armor and hands, somehow avoidant of most of the mess.

When you are alone, you don’t hold back.

“I would have handled him,” You tell him, “killed him myself.”

“This is not the arena, we do not go around slaughtering our men without reason,” Acacius retorts, “he will be demoted and replaced and be a reminder to the others that you—”

“I do not need you defending my honor, General.”

“Men will not change, this—society, it does not cater to your safety. To them, women are nothing but vanity and pleasure—”

“And property,” You remark, “lest you forget how you obtained me, General.”

Acacius approaches you near the table at the center of his tent, only a foot away as he removes his armor plate, pulling it over his head, “Had I not, you would have paid for your own freedom eventually. I needed a leader—strong, smart, powerful.”

“By punishing that man, you are sending the message that I need my battles fought for me,” You argue, “and as if these men did not already think I was the General’s plaything, what will they think now?”

Acacius sighs through his nose, pulling at the fabric of his tunic that bares his chest, “I believe they will behave,” He tells you, “because you will not be as kind when you take their heads. He was an example and a pain in my ass for years, he deserved more than that.”

“And what will they think of me now? I am naked under this cloak, your cloak. I must walk the path back to my tent surrounded by men deprived of the things your bestial minds crave.”

Acacius chuckles to himself, “I have been thinking,” He begins, “that you deserve a new name. Something indicative of all that you are. Some of the men award each other with monikers of war. Medusa seems to have become more of a taunt, in light of recent events.”

He unties the leather bands at his wrist, eyeing you with a mischievous gaze as he keeps you waiting, “Have you heard the tale of Minerva, my lady?”

It isn’t a surprise, but you shake your head.

“A goddess of many things—strategy, warfare, victory, and justice…but mostly importantly, wisdom. I have seen the way you command the battlefield, it is not lost on me.”

“You have…many stories, General.”

“My mother told me one every night as she tucked me, it seems they have stuck with me.”

Tell me more, the words linger in the back of your throat.

“I am barely standing, General. I must retire for the night.”

“Indeed,” He agrees, shamelessly stripping down to his undergarments to walk toward the clean bowl of water and wash away the drying blood, “and Minerva,” the name is completely foreign, but you respond with a hum, “your position is yours alone. You have earned it. Do not let them tell you otherwise.”

Like Medusa, the name sticks.

And thankfully, you were a few weeks away from a much-earned break from war, returning to Rome as a free woman for the first time, having finally fallen into a comfortable rhythm with the rest of his personal guards—a mutual respect that had been missing, men waiting for your command.

Long nights of planning spent in Acacius tent, surrounded by the other guards until they filter out one by one, growing curiosity and questions lead to many hours of conversation that you, for many months, had been deprived of in the arena.

“You did promise my return,” You remind him, “they will be expecting you to keep that.”

“They are young, fickle men,” Acacius berates with amusement, “I am sure they have moved on.”

“Do you fear them? The emperors?”

“They are spoiled brats,” Acacius responds, an answer in itself.

“They would visit me often,” You admit, “Caracalla seemed to be—it seems the syphilis in his loins was truly affecting his brains, often he would not even make sense. Or he would come to me, complaining of his brother.”

“You had built quite the rapor,” Acacius notes with a smile, sipping at the broth from his stew as he invites you to sit on his fancy, expensive bed cot. Much nicer than your own, cushioned and wrapped in velvet, “What of Geta?”

“He liked my breasts,” You begin bluntly, “and my—”

“He forced himself upon you?”

“I was property of Rome, Acacius,” You didn’t often say his name in such a relaxed way, blaming it on the full belly and exhaustion, “therefore I was his. I have suffered much worse than a lonely man searching for comfort.”

Acacius seems thoughtful, pensive as he stirs at his quickly diminishing stew. He does catch your lingering gaze on his face after a while, mesmerized by the scar underneath his eye, he encourages you.

“Ask, if you are so curious, my lady,” He places his bowl to the side, empty.

“Your scar,” You nod, pressing your finger in a mirroring way under your eye, “is there a story?”

“Nothing to be told with boast,” He chuckles, “a wound of battle, is all. Like many of the scars on my body,” He tells you, raising his naked forearm to display the various scars, noting the few that paint his clavicle, “and you, Minerva?”

It seems to have become a particular quirk of his, a lilt to his voice as he calls you by your given name—the others have become accustomed to it, too. But, with Acacius, it felt special. Treasured.

You raise your eyebrows at his question, quietly unlacing your top to pull it down your shoulder, sliding a hand over your breast to respect the dynamic between you both—him being your general and you, his subordinate. His eyes squint as he examines the jagged and staggered scar on the side of your breasts—not quite faded, healed but relatively fresh.

“He is a biter,” You warn him with amusement, “Geta.”

Only one scar, given by one of the emperors, somehow untouched from real battle. It was miraculous. You readjust your top, feeling the heat from your neck rise to your face at what you had just willingly offered over to Acacius. Unfortunately, he had a way of lowering your guard.

With that talk, it seemed like a true breakthrough in your partnership with Acacius.

He always allowed you to speak for yourself, never overstepping the boundary you had argued with him over, leading the charge with an iron fist and handling the younger, fresh faced soldiers who just seemed…lost.

It was hard to ignore the lingering glances over time, often during meetings as you spoke, not a look of attention but rather…ravishing. Hungry, but in a subdued manner. You weren’t sure where the lines had blurred, but they had.

Possibly somewhere within the long nights of conversation or the lingering touches that shouldn’t have been as charged as they were, handing over a piece of armor or blade and his calloused fingertips would circle your wrist, pause, before his brain would catch up to his actions.

“Go on,” He encourages after a final night of victory and triumph, many of the men howling and singing tunes around the fire, drinking from their cups and enjoying the pleasures of alcohol and comradery, “you are missing the fun,” He was unnaturally quiet, subdued to his quarters, leaning against the outside of his tent as he watched with amusement but subtle dismay.

A younger man approaches with his hand extended, a gleeful expression on his face, “Minerva, please—come, you must enjoy the party, too.”

The general gives you an expectant look as you let the young man lead you away, curling his fingers around your own and pulling you with vigor, cheering loudly to blend in with the energy of the men despite how you worry about the man several feet away, your eyes tracking his disappearing figure as he slips into his tent, eventually pulled away by another man, one of the guardsmen who adored you, asking for a dance.

You agree hesitantly as the crowd roars louder, eyes searching for the exact reason as you see a few men leading a line of women into camp, little clothing to allow them modesty, a less than subtle shushing come from the men as they lead them deeper into camp, and the fear in you tells you to run to the General.

“It is not what you think,” The young man tells you, “they are dancers—no harm will—”

You bypass him, straight toward the men leading the path, stopping them cold.

“They are not here against their will, my lady.” He assures you, though, that could be argued.

“Minerva, Acacius has made it clear that harming women, you—is far worse a crime than anything else. Truly, it is not what you believe it to be.”

“I am telling the General, informing him of their presence,” You admit, “so I suggest you and the rest of the cattle be on your best behavior?”

They both give crisp, curt nods.

As you make the direct line for Acacius’ tent, you are ignorant to his silent plea for privacy at the tied rope, intertwined with gold fabric, pushing apart the fabric doors without much of a thought, reality hitting you as you catch a glimpse of his naked frame, patting down his body with a clean cloth as he washed himself, other hand curved around his cock as he stretched his neck up and back, the water splashing as he dipped the towel into the basin, only aware of your present when you make a small, unrecognizable sound as a result of your own stupidity.

“I—General,” Your eyes widen as they take on a mind of their own, straight down the valley of his chest as he turns to you, quickly spinning on your heels, “I should have—I apologize, uh, the men…they are—”

“I was informed,” He assures, “and they have been warned, I assure you.”

“Yes, hm—um,” It was the only time Acacius had seen you flustered

“I assumed the rope was a clear message,” Acacius teases, “but—it is not your fault. I should have informed you of their…antics.”

He pulls the tight, fabric shorts over his hips, clearing his throat, peering over your shoulder you breathe a sigh of relief, “General, I would like to apologize for—” You swallow, watching as he turned barefoot on his heels, the fabric of the immodest undergarments curving around the stretch of his cock, half-hard under the fabric and the outline of thick head pushing against the linen.

You don’t realize how long you’re staring until he’s approaching with a tap of his finger on the underside of your chin, “There is no need for that,” He assures you, your nose scrunching up in confusion at the sudden touch, feeling the subtle shift as he reaches behind you for the clothes folded on the table at your backside, “surely you must return to the party,” He encourages, “celebrate a well-earned victory.”

“Why?” You counter, “When you will not.”

“Minerva,” He warns.

“You are distracted,” You note, watching as Acacius now avoids your gaze, “it is worrying me.”

He cannot admit the reason why. That it may be you.

“Acacius,” You call his name, hoping that will break through to him.

“Leave me,” He asks, rather than demanding, “I need to rest.”

It was a lie, but you do not fight him on it.

–

Silence blankets the camp in the early morning hours—the witching hours, as you’ve come to know them. Sleeping securely in your tent, bedroll tucked under your head as you drift. Unaware of the creeping men planning your untimely demise, assuring that the entire camp was asleep before they strike, arms and legs rendered useless as the third shoves a piece of cloth into your mouth and ties it around the back of your head, screams muffled behind the fabric, stripped of your weapons. Helpless, they think.

During the struggle, one of them grows frustrated, banging the hard rock against your skull and plunging you back into darkness.

When you come to, you are unclear of where you are, but it was outside, arms above your head against the thick limb, feet bound tight as well, a sting and a string of wetness running down the side of your face as your blurry vision becomes clear.

“Little Minerva,” the voice begins mockingly, all too familiar to your ears, “he has named you—you must feel special, ay?”

He kneels in front of you, the one hand he has left curling around the forearm of what was left of his other appendage, “And you expect to return back to Rome as a free woman,” He laughs, snorts wetly through his nose, “I assure you that will not happen. Rather, you will be a dead one.”

The other two lingering figures join in on the laughter.

“How did you say it?” He taunts, “I will gut you where you stand?”

“It took three of you to capture me,” You retort, “your confidence is lacking sorely.”

He clears the back of his throat, rearing up a ball of saliva in his mouth before he’s spitting at you.

“I will slaughter all of you with my hands,” You promise, “untie me, unless you are fearful.”

Driven by ego, it doesn’t take much for him to agree.

But, as he had underestimated you the first time, and the second, he would regret the third.

The two men come at you first, enough tussling and your teeth ripping into the ear of one of them, searching blindly for a thick, heavy and sharp edge branch that would handle the weight of piercing through skin and muscle, finding the right weapon at the perfect moment—the attacker rearing back as the other approached, driving the make-shift stake through his chest as the other tackled you to the ground, a poor miscalculation on his part as you get your legs around his neck, arms pinned at an painful, awkward ankle until his neck snaps from the force, the ox-like man awaiting in the shadows like a coward, blood spilling from your mouth as you scream.

The heavy hooves approach like roaring thunder and the instant your attacker catches on, his attempts to flee are ruined by the barricade of men at all angles, General Acacius at the head of the charge, a rageful expression on his face. Feral unlike you have ever seen.

He jumps off of his horse, ordering the men to capture the surviving man once again, looking around at the lifeless bodies beside you, assuring his men he would handle you and the mess, demanding they return to camp at once.

You look around aimlessly, blood staining your face as Acacius struggles to capture your attention, eventually resorting to a strong, demanding hold on your face, cradling your head with his hands.

“Are you wounded?” He asks, then notices the trail of blood from your scalp, pushing away the hair to reveal with gash from the rock they had attacked you with, grimacing as he runs his finger over the wound in worry.

Suddenly, you are stricken with a need, “Give me your sword,” You tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own, “I need your sword.” His movements are too slow, still concerned with you that you reach for the weapon yourself.

Pulling away, you approach one of the dead men with the sword, swinging it up over your head and down with force, beheading him in one go, before switching to the other man, less finesse as you swing—again and again, until there is nothing but a pool of blood, bone, and brain—Acacius steps in eventually, tossing the sword away as he holds you arms in his fierce grip, letting the screams rip from your chest as he sways with you, eventually falling to your knees in exhaustion. He uses his bare hands to wipe the blood away from your neck, your face, feeling the soft shake of your body as you sob in silence, overcome with an emotion you so rarely let surface.

–

The public execution follows the next morning, everyone rousing from their tents to the loud, blaring horn from the ship just off shore—Acacius had assisted you back to camp on his horse, slumped against his back as you rode until the trampling finally stopped, sliding off the horse and into Acacius’ arms as he led you inside his tent.

He didn’t sleep the entire night, watching over you instead—he rarely blinked, staring off into nothingness as he tried to keep the vicious rage at bay, by morning, he was itching.

“You may stay,” He tells you, “your head—I cleaned it while you slept.”

You shove his hand away as he attempts to help you sit, slowly dressing yourself, eventually putting together the fact that Acacius had undressed and bathed you at some point throughout the night, not a speck of blood or spit remaining.

“Are you ordering me to stay?”

Acacius shakes his head, his hand still hovering close by.

“Then I will attend.”

He doesn’t argue against it and there is, despite your weariness to admit, a relief of your chest as Acacius rears back his blade, silencing the final scream the man lets out, pleading for his life. The blood sprays over his face, a strong grimace at the sheer strength it takes to behead the man, but the general manages it with one strike of his blade.

His speech follows, a deep and unsettling warning to all of his men. A final one.

Men, wide-eyed with fear, agree without resistance before he sends them off to ready the ship for departure and a meal before they begin their long trek back to Rome—he is less than gentle as he grabs your wrist without warning and pulls you alongside him, back to his tent.

–

He ties the rope with a stiff tug, before turning to you, stumbling on your feet as pull off his cape, having offered it to you for a second time, assuring that dressing in your usually armor wasn’t needed today, not as you began your travels, a flowing dress tied at your shoulder and waist that you were used to wearing during the showings back in Rome, parading you around like a prize.

“Acacius, perhaps you should sit,” You suggest, watching his hands curl into fists at his sides before he’s spinning on his heels and toward you, cradling your face like he had the night prior, but even this close, it felt like he was trying to keep you at a distance, “—I am sorry, if I did something—”

“I crave you,” Acacius admits, “you must know.”

Your lips part, gearing up the courage to speak, but falling short.

“Nights I have spent,” He breathes, shaking his head, the curls tickling your forehead as they meet, “thinking—wondering—”

“Acacius, why now?” You question him, “As we are homebound, back to your wife. Surely, she would have my head.”

Acacius shakes his head with a soft, but fond laugh.

“Our marriage is complex,” He explains, “Something I do not care to explain in great detail at this moment, you see—,” His hand curves around the side of your neck, tilting your head up, lips grazing against his own as he speaks, “I had no such intention for things to get like this, but you have proven to make things…difficult, for me,” He breathes out through his mouth, his eyes opening slowly to meet yours, “and I need you, should you have me.”

You could easily deny him, knowing he would back off in an instant. But, like this, clearly driven by adrenaline and instinct, riding the high of such a charged execution, he was craving something deeper than an outlet to release the built up tension.

He craved connection—through little moments of conversation and touches, someone at level-ground, an equal. You were his equal. He’d given you so much since, and you would be lying to yourself if you denied the thoughts that had riddled your mind too.

“I do not much prefer a soft touch,” You finally reply, “or gentle care.”

He silences you with a kiss, bruising and tense as he licks into your mouth, hungrily searching for more areas to taste and devour, licking along the column of your neck as the blood of another smeared into your skin, his fingers working quietly to undo your dress, in turn wrestling with his armor and clothes, nearly ripping the fabric of his shirt from his body as you claw at him.

Wet kisses and clashing tongues fill the silent room, a screeching sound as your back hits the roundtable before he’s lifting from the back of your thighs and scooting you onto the surface, naked and bare as he spreads your thighs apart to move between them, clearly restraining himself as he licks, teeth grazing carefully.

“I enjoy them,” You admit, “Do not hold back, Acacius. They are what I will keep with me, if this be the only time.”

Like a dog cut loose of his chain, his teeth sink into the breasts mirror the mark of the other, hissing as his teeth break through the skin just enough for the subtle trickling of blood to rise to the surface before he’s soothing the wound with his tongue, staring up at you through a half-lidded gaze, prowling for more. He dips lower, falling to his knees as he pulls you toward the end of the table, ass hanging near the edge as his teeth sink into your thigh, near the swell of your cunt as you moan, fingers digging into sweaty, matted curls.

“Acacius,” You plead breathily, “I want your mouth.”

Where—it did not matter. But, Acacius fulfills that need as he licks a broad strip through your cunt, nose buried in the coarse curls, still smelling of the fresh soap he had bathed you in, taking delicate care as he washed your body, letting you slump into him, soaking him in the process.

“Yes, that—” You respond airily, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue dips inside of you, swirling your slick around on his tongue and sucking harshly at your clit, staring up at you daringly from his position beneath you, unwavering, “oh, gods above…”

Acacius chuckles below you,the sound vibrating against your cunt as your moans increase rapidly, thick fingers dipping inside your pulsating core, “This high—it feels like—”

He rises to press a kiss against your stomach, climbing, tongue licking over your belly button and between your breasts, “—like…” He encourages, “come on, my lady, do not sell out on me now,”

“Like a battle high,” You admit with a faint laugh, “though, different, but….”

He understands, driven by unbridled need, uncapped adrenaline.

“Well, vae victis,” He taunts, “now—come here,” He squeezes at your hips and pulls you to him, his cock stiff, throbbing between your legs before he is twisting and spinning you around, feet planting against the ground as he bends you over, fisting himself tight as he rubs his thick cock head between your folds, watching as your wetness coats him, sinking into your fluttering hole with little resistance, a sweet cacophony of noises releasing from your throat as you grip onto nothing, hand curling into a fist as you moan, open-mouthed and shameless.

“Harder,” You beg, forcing the word out between thrusts, blunt fingernails clawing at your hips, attempting to pull you in closer despite your proximity, as if he could consume and even that wouldn’t be enough, “Acacius, please.”

It was like instinct, his hand sliding up the back of your thigh to lift your leg up, pinning it up—up, until you feel the ache in your sore muscles as he holds you in place with a fist between the bend of your knee, heaving breaths at your neck as he fucks you into the hard surface of the table.

It was a pain you would feel in your bones, that would carry with you into the morning, marks that would last for longer, a remnant of this moment, the mess of blood smearing on your own skin as he melts against you, forehead resting against your shoulder as his gaze follows the movement of his hips, slow but powered thrusts that drilled into you, clawing at his skin to leave your own bruises. The hand that brushes against your core is your ultimate demise, feeling breathless as your orgasm pulls you under, muffled sobs into your fist as you bite down, fearful that it might draw attention. Though, Acacius seems preoccupied, still.

His hand seeks your neck, digging in as he pulled you up, “To your knees,” He demands softly, your body moving out a memory, dropping to the floor—though, the sight is much more tantalizing, Acacius fisting his cock tight, feral as he teeth were bared, like a man fresh from the slaughter, he comes with a deep and guttural groan, your tongue sliding against the underside of his bulbous head, thick spurts coating your tongue, his body shaking as you pull away, swallowing all that he had offered with a steady, locked gaze. He assists you upright, steadying you.

“For a man who has such a distaste for unnecessary violence, you wear it well,” It wasn’t a compliment, rather an observation, his eyes tracking your naked frame, fingertips tracing the curves of your body in admiration.

“You are quite inspiring, Minerva,” He admits, gathering your thick dress and helping you redress in silence, tying the material around your body, “not everyone deserves mercy.”

Your smile is rare, but it is beautiful. And he wasn’t a man for such dramatics.

But, it could bring him to his knees, he thinks.

928 notes · View notes

tintinn16 · 1 month ago

Text

Zee is the star of this story💜 I would have hoped that Kat went to the police about Alec but at least he got beat up a bit😅

I can’t wait to see what happens with them now that some people kinda know about them. AND THE TANGO OH MY LORD!!!! I watched the videos and i’ve never realised how hot dancing could be!

Ps. I’m waiting for the plantdad ig live.

Closed Position: Week 6 (Argentine Tango)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble.

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo.

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 27.3k (I know, I'm sorry!)

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not by or toward Dieter), past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Dieter and Kat both being a menace, improper use of a dressing room, smut, fluff, and physical assault (Alec is a dick)

Chapter Quote: “Can’t have you gettin’ confused and grabbing the wrong erection.”

Dieter’s POV

I was still riding high from our perfect score as I sat in the chair staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. I shouldn’t have been shocked given how perfectly in sync Kat and I were during the performance, but I was. I never thought I would find myself in this position - happily sober, having the high score on a dance competition TV show, and completely in love with my dance partner. The thought of it was blowing my mind. There was only one explanation for it, to put it simply, it was Kat. Her unyielding faith was all it took to help me see myself in a different light. She made me realize that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for and I’m actually not a shitty person. She gave me the courage to be a better version of myself and have the things I didn’t think I was worthy of.

My attention was drawn from my thoughts by the buzzing of my phone. I had a new text from Evan and another from my agent, Lenny. I tapped to open Evan’s.

Evan: Dude, if you two are trying to keep things on the down low, you suck at it. That performance was 🔥🔥🔥.

Me: That obvious? Fuck.

Evan: Yeah, better be prepared for the inevitable speculation to ramp up.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as a soft knock sounded at my door. I assumed it was Kat as I called out, “Door’s open.”

A petite brunette tentatively stuck her head through the crack as she opened the door. I recognized her as Marc’s partner. Shit. What’s her name? She’s the TikTok girl. Sarah? No…Stefanie!

“Hey, Stefanie. What’s up?” I asked, a little confused by her presence.

She pushed the door open further to step inside. She was wringing her hands together as Marc followed her through the threshold. She seemed tense and unsure.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Dieter. It may be nothing…but I just saw Alec coming up behind Kat in her dressing room as she shut the door. It looked…odd. I don’t think she knew he was in there. I know they’re…”

Blood was suddenly pounding in my ears. I didn’t hear the rest of her sentence as I stood from my seat and asked, “Did you see him come out or hear anything?”

She shook her head, “No, but it gave me a weird vibe. With everything going on, we felt like someone should know.”

I nodded, already moving toward the door. “She doesn’t wanna be alone with him. Thank you for telling me.”

Without giving it a second thought I was jogging down the hall toward Kat’s dressing room, vaguely aware that Marc and Stefanie were following behind me. I felt sick. Something doesn’t feel right about this.

I began knocking and calling out to her as soon as I reached the door, “Kat, it's me. Can I come in?”

I got nothing but silence in return. Marc turned to one of the other couples who were standing just outside a dressing room across the hallway. “Did you see Kat or Alec come out?” he asked. With wide-eyes, they shook their heads no.

I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. If they were only talking, she would still answer me. Right?

I knocked harder, “Kat, I’m coming in.”

I reached for the knob and twisted, but it was locked. “Fuck!”

My chest was heaving as I looked around with panicked eyes. I could faintly hear Marc saying something about keys before the couple that had been standing nearby took off down the hallway. My attention was drawn back to the door, convinced I heard a light thump against it. I glanced at Marc, and he nodded. He heard it too. Before I even realized what I was doing, my shoulder began knocking against the hard metal as I continued to yell for Kat to unlock it. The door did not budge. Realizing that it was pointless to continue, I stepped back, allowing my eyes to scan the area for anyone who could possibly help. There was no one else around.

I could feel the panic setting in, worried that Alec might be doing something to hurt her. Given the way he looked at us as he left the staging area toward the end of the show, I couldn’t help thinking the worst.

The sound of the knob jiggling brought my attention back to the door. I reached out, twisting to find that it was now unlocked. As I pushed it open, I was briefly met by Alec’s surprised face before my focus shifted to Kat, clawing at his hands clasped tightly around her neck. Her eyes were wide in panic as she gasped for air. I reacted on instinct, determined to keep her safe as I threw myself at him. I had never in my life wanted to cause anyone bodily harm, but at that moment I was out for blood.

Kat’s POV

I could feel the fight in me fading as Alec’s hands tightened around my throat. I was near blacking out when I heard Dieter knocking at the door. Hearing his voice and knowing that he was trying to get to me ignited a new burst of adrenaline. I tried to call out to him but couldn’t get any sound to come out. Alec seemed unfazed by the fact that someone was at the door. His focus was on my face, stoic and unblinking. I tried kneeing him in the groin, but once he realized what I was doing, he somehow maneuvered himself between my thighs so that I couldn’t.

I was so afraid Dieter would leave, thinking I wasn’t in here. So, I changed tactics, kicking at the door with my heel while trying to relieve some of the pressure around my neck with my hands. I could feel myself fading again as Alec regained his tight grip. I could hear Dieter trying to open the door. I was torn between not wanting him to find me like this and praying he got the door open. I knew he would lose it on Alec if he saw this.

I somehow found the strength to twist in Alec’s grip, which allowed me to forcefully connect an elbow with the side of his face. The shock of it caused him to release his hold just enough that I was able to reach the door handle to my left and unlock it. Alec didn’t realize what I had done until he was face-to-face with a very angry Dieter Bravo.

Dieter had Alec on the floor in the blink of an eye, shoving him off of me then giving a quick jab to the throat before pinning Alec down as he gasped for air. Marc and his partner followed Dieter into the room. They immediately came to my aid as I rubbed at the stinging and throbbing around my neck, fighting back tears as I inhaled deeply to catch my breath.

I pushed them away, moving toward Dieter. I attempted to plead for him to stop, but I couldn’t get any sound out. My throat felt raw through my feeble attempts. I pushed Marc toward them, begging him to do something. I couldn’t let Dieter get in trouble over this asshole.

It all happened so fast as Dieter got a few solid punches in before wrapping his hands around Alec’s throat as he cursed the man underneath him. I never would have imagined Dieter was capable of such a reaction, but it made me realize the lengths he would go to in order to protect those he cares about. The crazed look in his eyes probably should have scared me, but it didn’t. All I could think of doing was protecting him.

Even though Dieter was a lot bigger than Marc, Marc somehow managed to pull him off Alec before he took it too far. Alec scrambled to his feet, fear briefly flashing on his face before he collected himself and gave us both a sneer as he wiped at his bloody lips. “See, I knew you were lying to me,” he said with an accusatory tone.

Dieter opened his mouth to speak as Marc continued to hold him back. I stepped forward, placing my hand on his shoulder, silencing him and causing his attention to focus on me.

I met Alec’s glare, “I told you there was nothing going on between us. Why can’t you just accept the fact that you’re the one who fucked up?”

Alec smirked, “Was? There was nothing…but there is now? Right?”

When I didn’t answer, he nodded then scoffed out a laugh. “You may not have acted on it, but you were attracted to him. You were thinking about it. You were all too happy to get rid of me the first chance you got.”

I could feel the anger flaring in my chest, feeling defiant against his accusations. “The moment that I walked in on you fucking Lana was the moment you lost the right to know anything about me. It’s none of your damn business. I told you I didn’t do anything, and I know I didn’t do anything wrong. That’s all that matters to me. You can spout off whatever bullshit about us that you want, I don’t care anymore. Everyone knows you’re the one who cheated anyway. You can thank the paparazzi for that.”

I could see in Alec’s eyes the exact moment he realized he didn’t have control over me anymore. This whole encounter had been a serious wakeup call and blow to his ego. He was scared of Dieter and now he was scared of me. I knew the real him and I was no longer afraid to expose him for what he was - an abusive narcissist. The perfect public image that he had worked so hard to cultivate and maintain was crumbling around him, and he was the cause of it.

Alec turned to leave, but Dieter’s voice stopped him. “If you ever lay another hand on her, I will fucking end you. You hear me?”

Alec smirked as he turned to face Dieter, putting on that cocky persona that he used as a defense mechanism, “Are you threatening me, Bravo?”

Dieter let out a menacing chuckle, “No, it’s a promise. I’m not fucking around with you anymore.”

Alec’s smile faltered. He had been expecting Dieter to backtrack on that statement. He nodded, pursing his lips, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He wiped at his bloody face as he turned to leave.

Once Alec was out of sight, Marc finally released Dieter. Dieter’s hands immediately reached toward me to survey the damage. I winced as his fingertips gently grazed my neck, “Kat, you need to call the police and report this.”

I pulled his hand away, shaking my head gingerly. “No. If I do that, it’ll be all over the gossip sites and news tomorrow morning. That stuff is public record. I can’t handle that right now.”

Dieter huffed in exasperation, “What if he does this again? This is the second time I’ve witnessed it, and this time was way worse.”

Marc stepped forward, “I agree with Dieter. I’ll be happy to give a statement…Alec was out of line.”

I shook my head again, “No. Dieter, I…” I paused, not knowing what to say. I knew he wasn’t going to be concerned about himself. “Dieter, I don’t want you to get into trouble. He may retaliate by pressing charges against you or something…it’ll turn into a whole thing. I’m not gonna let him ruin your reputation when you’ve been working so hard to fix it.”

I could tell Dieter was getting frustrated as he ran his hands down his face, “I don’t care about that. I was protecting you… this is on him.”

I sighed, “I know you were, and I’m thankful you came to me…but that won’t matter. The headlines will be that you assaulted someone. That’s all people will see.”

I grabbed his hands as I peered up at him, “He’s not gonna do it again. You scared the hell out of him tonight. I could see it. Also, there are two witnesses besides us. He’s fucked and he knows it. Let’s just…deal with it my way? Ok? Please.”

For the first time, my attention shifted to Stefanie as she moved to close the door.

“Sorry, there’s a bit of a crowd forming out there. Everyone must finally be making their way down here from the ballroom.”

Now that I had a moment to think, I didn’t know why Marc and Stefanie were here.

“Dieter, how did you know he was in here?” I asked.

Stefanie meekly raised her hand, “I told him. I saw Alec as you were closing the door. He seemed…off. Marc felt like we needed to get Dieter, so we did.”

“Why did you feel like you needed to get Dieter?” I asked Marc.

He shrugged, thinking through his next words before he spoke. “You two seem…close. I figured he would know if it was something to be worried about or not.”

Close? Fuck. Were we really that obvious? I puffed air out of my cheeks before walking over to Stefanie and pulling her into a hug, “Thank you for noticing something wasn’t right. I don’t know how that would have gone otherwise.”

I turned to Marc, thanking him as well before asking. “If you guys don’t mind, please keep the details of this between us for now?”

They both nodded. “Out of everyone on the cast, we’re probably the only ones you can trust. We won’t say anything.” Marc replied.

“What if Stacia and Joe ask us about it?” Stefanie questioned.

I sighed, “If they do, tell them what you saw…and I’ll handle the rest.”

I glanced over at Dieter as he sank down into a chair, placing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. I could tell he wasn’t handling this well. I looked back to Stefanie and Marc, “Would you guys mind giving us some privacy?”

They both looked in Dieter’s direction with a sympathetic expression before nodding and moving to exit. Before I closed the door behind them, Marc turned to me. “Kat…let us know if you guys need anything, yeah? Doesn’t matter what it is.”

I nodded, “I will, thank you.”

After closing and locking the door, I moved to stand in front of Dieter. I had to nearly pry his hands from his face, but even then he still wouldn't look at me. I crowded his space, forcing him to lean back in the seat as I hiked my dress up to straddle him. He was still avoiding my eyes as I reached for him, cupping his cheeks to angle his head upward so I could look at him. His eyes were pooling with tears as his jaw flexed under my hands. He looked broken. It was almost enough to shatter the facade I was trying so hard to maintain for his sake.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?” I finally asked.

He shook his head, pulling my hands from his cheeks.

“Dieter, don’t push me out. Please.”

He took a deep breath, looking anywhere but at me. “I…just…I thought something bad happened. I was scared that you were hurt…and I couldn’t get to you. Then I…just sort of lost it when I saw what he was doing to you. I’m sorry. I’ve never…I’m not like that. I don’t want you to think I’m like that. I’m not a violent person…”

The more he spoke, the more distressed he seemed. My hands found their way back to his cheeks as I tried to sooth him, “Hey, it’s ok. I know you’re not like that. You were protecting me. I would’ve done the same for you.”

That seemed to help him relax some as he leaned into my touch. His arms slid around my waist, pulling me closer, “I’m sorry, just ignore me. I think what happened is starting to hit me…are you really OK? Do you need to go to get checked out? I can take you if…”

My hands slid down to rest on the sides of his neck as my thumbs rubbed against his scruffy jawline, “No, I’m fine. I promise. You got to me before he did any real damage.”

He leaned back some for a better view as his hand reached to push the hair away from my neck. His brow furrowed. I could see his eyes flash with anger and pain.

“You’re probably gonna have bruises.”

I shrugged and sighed, “Not the first time…”

His lips set into a tight line before he pulled me in for a firm embrace, nuzzling his scratchy beard against the exposed skin on my chest. I hugged him against me, aching to run my fingers through his hair, but the copious amounts of hair gel made that impossible. I settled for rubbing just below his hairline on the back of his neck instead.

He seemed vulnerable, but I didn’t really understand why. I needed him to understand that I didn’t think he did anything wrong. I leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of his head, “Thank you…for looking out for me. I’m not sure I’d have the strength to get him out of my life without you.”

He shifted so that he could look up at me with a sad smile, “Thank you for letting me.”

A lump formed in my throat as I returned his smile, then leaned down to capture his lips with mine. It was a languid kiss, full of emotion and need, yet somehow not sexual at all. It was comforting and everything we both needed to ground ourselves after the ordeal we had just gone through.

We were distracted by a knock on the door. It was one of the assistants from the costume department. “Kat, we still need your costume,” she called through the door, clearly unaware of the drama that had just unfolded.

I huffed as Dieter’s hands rubbed up and down my sides, “Yeah, give me a few minutes.” I called back.

My eyes focused on him, “You better go get changed too. They’ll be after you next.”

He rolled his eyes, lifting me with him as he stood.

“Lock the door behind me, please. I’ll be back after I’m done.”

I nodded and did as he asked, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves as I turned the lock. It was taking everything in me not to fall apart. The urge to burst into tears had been steadily growing since Alec left the room, but I had somehow managed to ward them off. I couldn’t fall apart here. I needed to wait until I got home. I wanted nothing more than to go home with Dieter and let him soothe all the bad feelings away, but I knew I needed to spend some time alone to process what happened. I needed time to myself to feel it and work through it. I didn’t want Dieter to see me like that. I worried it would be too much for him.

I moved around the room, almost on autopilot, changing out of my costume and putting it into the garment bag. Just as I was pulling my shirt over my head, Dieter was back, knocking at the door. I grabbed the garment bag as I went to unlock the door for him, hanging it on the hook just outside for pickup before turning to grab my things so we could leave.

“Did you still wanna grab some dinner? Maybe we get something to go?” he asked.

I sighed, “I think I’m actually just gonna go home.”

I could see the panic in his eyes. He thought I didn’t want to be around him. I looped my hand around his bicep and gave it a reassuring squeeze as we walked toward the exit to the parking lot. “I feel like doing a cleansing. I actually wanna go home and pack up all Alec’s shit so I can be done with him, for good. Especially after tonight. It’s something I need to do.”

He nodded, seeming to understand, but he still looked like a wounded puppy.

“How about we do dinner at your place tomorrow after rehearsal?” I asked. We hadn’t really gotten to spend any quality time together since coming back from New York. I wanted to, just not tonight.

He seemed to perk up a bit and chuckled, “Are you volunteering me to cook for you?”

I shrugged, “I mean…I would never turn down one of your homemade meals, but I would settle for takeout if you didn’t feel like it. I really just wanna spend some non-dance time with you and see Zee again too, of course.”

That elicited a big smile from him as he held the door open for me. “I won’t argue with that,” he finally said.

When we reached my vehicle, he opened the door, standing with it between us.

“Lemme know when you get home, please?”

I nodded, wanting nothing more than to kiss him, but I knew eyes could be anywhere.

“And call me if you need anything. I don’t care what or when…I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

I chuckled, “It would take at least thirty.”

He shook his head and laughed, “Nope, fifteen.”

I rolled my eyes as I sat down in the driver’s seat, “I’ll see you at the production meeting in the morning. Go get some rest. I expect there’ll be a full interrogation.”

He huffed in annoyance as he reached down to hit the lock button on the door, then smiled, pushing the door shut as he said “Good night, Kit Kat.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

I suddenly felt torn. Maybe we did need to be together tonight. I shook the thought away as I moved to start the car, deciding to continue on with my plan.

When I got home, I sent Dieter a quick text to let him know I was locked in. I settled on heating up a can of soup for dinner, given that my throat was not feeling the greatest. I actually found the warmth from it to be somewhat soothing as I took a quick inventory of how much of Alec’s stuff was actually at my place and hoped that the stash of Amazon boxes that I hadn’t put out for trash pickup would be enough to pack it all.

I worked in anger for hours, going through the house shoving things in boxes without any organization or order, muttering that he should consider himself lucky that I wasn’t just throwing it all out on the lawn and burning it like I wanted to. I couldn’t understand how it had come to this. I knew he had a darker side, but I never could have imagined that he would take it this far. I was almost certain that if we had been anywhere else that he couldn’t have been interrupted, he might not have stopped. The dead-eyed stare as his fingers tightened around my throat scared the hell out of me. His intent was to hurt me. There was no question about it.

As I was rummaging around behind the clothes hanging in my closet, I bumped against my guitar case that was hidden behind everything. It fell over with a thud, causing a low thrumming of the strings, which was muted by the case. The sight of the instrument instantly had my stomach in knots. I hadn’t taken it out of the case since Alec and I first started dating six years ago. He had only seen me play it twice and that was all it took for me to never play in front of him again. His critical commentary made me feel inadequate under his gaze. It made me self-conscious and took the fun out of something that was once my refuge. Which was sort of ridiculous because Alec didn’t know the first thing about playing or music. He always had terrible taste. I really think what it came down to is that it was something that could take attention away from him. That probably should have been my first hint that he was not for me.

After taking a few deep breaths, I laid the case flat on the floor and opened it. The vintage Gibson Hummingbird looked exactly as it had last time I laid eyes on it. Untouched by time and dust. I reached out, running my fingertips over the glossy black mahogany edges and classic light wood tone sunburst along the lower bout. The memory of the day my father gave it to me came rushing back. He had found it dirt cheap at a yard sale of all places and was beyond excited to give it to me. The memories of the times we played together seemed so long ago, but they were just as vivid as if it were yesterday. Then there was the memory of playing with Dieter at his house. I realized it had felt the same playing with him, freeing almost.

My fingers trailed up to the hummingbird motif engraved into the pickguard. It was my favorite part because it reminded me of my mom. Hummingbirds were always her favorite and I loved having a little piece of her with me after she died. I reached to pick it up, watching the mother of pearl inlay on the fingerboard reflect in the light as I twisted it to set in my lap. My fingers strummed along the strings and moved along the frets, getting reacquainted with my old friend.

Without even realizing, I began to strum out the chords of the song Dieter and I had sung together that night at his house, Scars on this Guitar. It felt fitting as I began to hum along. A calmness washed over me as I played. It was like I had found myself again. It was almost overwhelming as the tears suddenly flooded out of my eyes without warning. They weren’t sad tears. It was more from relief than anything.

I was soon distracted by my phone chiming with a text message. After wiping my face, I dug it out of the pocket of my sweatpants to find a text from Dieter.

Dieter: I’m totally going to be a needy bitch and ask if I can call you before I fall asleep? Please. 🥺

I chuckled, loving the fact that he didn’t take himself seriously and always said whatever he was feeling.

Me: Of course you can. And I like it when you’re a needy bitch. 😏

I knew what he was doing. He wanted to check on me and I couldn’t even be upset about it.

Moments later, my phone rang with an incoming FaceTime call.��I huffed out a quiet “fuck” before wiping at my face some more. I hadn’t realized this would be a video call. I hoped he couldn’t tell that I had been crying. When I answered, I was met with flashes of light and fur. I could hear Dieter muttering, “What the fuck, Zee?” I couldn’t help laughing as the video shifted around to finally show most of his face. His chin and neck were covered by cat fur. He looked annoyed, “Heey honey, sorry. Zee decided she wanted to jump on my face just as soon as I hit the call button.”

I felt a rush of heat go through me at his words. I know I give him hell over the pet names, but now that I didn’t have Alec to worry about, I actually loved hearing him call me those things.

I laughed, watching as he held the phone further away so I could see Zee lying sprawled out and wallowing on her back on top of his bare chest. She was rubbing her face against the scruff of his chin. It was the cutest and hottest thing I’d ever seen.

I snickered, “It’s ok Zee, I get it. I like to rub against his face too.”

Dieter snorted as he angled the phone back toward his face, “Well that wasn’t how I expected this conversation to start.”

I laughed, holding the phone further away at a lower angle, hoping he couldn’t see my red eyes.

He suddenly turned a little more serious as he stared into the camera, “I just wanted to check in, make sure you were doing ok…after everything today.”

I cleared my throat, “Yeah…I’m good. Just finished packing up his shit…so I feel a lot better now. I’ll text his brother to come get it off the porch tomorrow, so I don’t have to deal with him.”

Dieter pursed his lips. I could tell he wanted to say something but was holding back.

“What is it?” I asked.

He sighed, “Are you sure you don’t wanna go to the police?”

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “Yeah…I’m sure. I really don’t think he’s gonna try anything again. I’m pretty sure he’s terrified of getting his ass kicked now.”

Dieter chuckled, “Who said anything about an ass kicking? I’ll make him disappear if it happens again.”

I smiled, “I’ll help you hide the body.”

He laughed loudly, causing Zee to reach up and cover his mouth with her paw. He grabbed it, placing a small kiss on her little toe beans before murmuring a quiet, “Sorry, baby girl” into the fur on the top of her head. I really could have melted over how sweet he was with her.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment as he looked off in the distance. His eyes eventually turned back to the camera. He seemed nervous.

“I feel like I need to apologize for how I acted. I lost control and let my emotions take over. I really don’t want you to think that’s normal behavior for me, because it’s not. I-I don’t do shit like that. Ever.”

I could tell this was getting to him. The pain and desperation breaking through in his voice caused my eyes to prickle with tears again. I hated seeing him upset.

“Dieter, it’s ok. I know you’re not like him…if that’s what you’re worried about. I know you would never do that to me.”

He appeared to relax some, but still seemed on edge. I suddenly felt selfish. I should have gone home with him tonight. He would never admit it, but it felt like this went deeper than what happened with Alec. I couldn’t help wondering if today’s events were causing something from his past to come to the surface. I wanted to ask, but that didn’t seem like a conversation to have over the phone. I suddenly felt the need to reassure him.

We were quiet for a beat, but I finally broke the silence, “I can’t wait to spend some time with you tomorrow. I’m sort of kicking myself for not coming over tonight.”

He gave me a soft smile, “The night’s not over…and my bed is always open…though you may have to fight Zee for a spot.”

I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth, seriously considering his offer. “What time is it?”

His head leaned up slightly, I assume to check the time, “A little after ten.”

Huffing out a sigh, I replied, “I better not. It’s already late and we have to be at the studio early.”

His eyes told me he disappointed, but he still smiled into the camera, “You want to though.”

I groaned out a whiney “yeeees”, shifting to uncross my legs from where I still sat on the floor of my closet and sliding the guitar to the floor causing a slight hum from the strings.

Dieter chuckled as a confused look formed on his face, “Where are you?”

I laughed, “Sitting on my closet floor…I…” I paused, wondering if I should tell him what I had been doing. His brows arched, waiting for me to continue. “I uhh, came across my guitar while I was looking for all Alec’s junk to pack up. I-I took it out of the case for the first time in years…”

I looked away from the phone as I felt my eyes prickling again. Fuck. Why is this making me emotional?

“Is that why you’ve been crying?” Dieter asked.

My eyes darted back to the phone, “You could tell? And you didn’t say anything?”

He shrugged, “I know you’re dealing with stuff. I don’t expect you to tell me and I don’t wanna pry. I know you’ll talk when you’re ready.”

I had to appreciate his patience with me. I never would have guessed that would be something he would so willingly give without me asking.

I smiled, “Yes, that’s why I was crying. Honestly, playing with you a few weeks ago made me realize how much I missed it…and playing just now was such a fucking relief. I sort of feel like I found one of my missing pieces…ya know what I mean?”

Dieter’s brows furrowed as his lips set into a tight line. He had a strange look in his eyes as he cleared his throat, “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

I suddenly had butterflies in my stomach, feeling like his words had a deeper meaning that I couldn’t quite figure out.

He rubbed at his face, “Well, we should probably get to bed. The sooner we fall asleep, the sooner I can be with you tomorrow.”

I laughed, “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He gave me a small smile, “Night, Kit Kat.”

We both lingered in silence for a few seconds longer than necessary before disconnecting the call. My feelings for him were growing. There was no denying it. It scared me a little as I reminded myself that it was like this with Alec once. I didn’t see his red flags in the beginning. What if I was missing them with Dieter? I had to shake that thought away. It was ridiculous. I was just psyching myself out. Dieter had already proven ten times over that he was a good person and that he cared about me.

After pulling myself up out of the floor and giving a full body stretch to loosen up my stiff and aching joints, I got ready for bed and settled into a restless sleep.

Dieter and I both arrived at Television City Studios earlier than necessary. He was already in the lobby waiting with coffee when I walked in. He didn’t have to say why he was so early because I knew it was the same reason I was there early, I wanted to see him.

He stood when I approached, his gaze immediately focusing on my neck as he reached to brush my hair away from it. His questioning eyes shifted to mine as his thumb grazed down the side of my throat.

“I’m ok. It’s not that bad. I was able to cover it with makeup,” I said in response.

He sighed heavily. I could see the anger flashing in his eyes as he pulled away to rub at the back of his neck when an intern walked by. My eyes were drawn to his hand. I could see slight bruising around the knuckles, but it didn’t seem too bad. Not as bad as last time anyway.

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt,” I said.

He glanced at his knuckles, “It’s nothing…not even sore. Should’ve hit him harder.”

“Keep that out of sight while we’re meeting with them. If they ask…as far as they’re concerned, I hit him. You only pushed him off, got it?”

He huffed, then shook his head, “You don’t have to lie for me…”

I shrugged, “It’s not a lie. I did hit him.”

Dieter’s brows knitted together, “You did?”

I nodded, “Yeah, how do you think I got the door unlocked? I elbowed him in the face.”

He smiled, suddenly looking proud. “I don’t condone violence, but I’m kind of happy you did that. He deserved it.”

We moved to sit in the chairs next to each other, trying our best to keep our hands to ourselves as we waited. It wasn’t long before a PA came to get us for the meeting. When we entered the conference room, Stacia and Joe were waiting. They both had a stony expression on their faces and only nodded in greeting. Fuck. They know.

After we got situated in our seats, I felt Dieter’s leg rest against mine under the table. He could sense the tension too.

Joe crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat as Stacia eyed us with pursed lips. She seemed to be weighing how to start this conversation.

“So, it looks like things went well in New York. Did you two have a good time?”

Small talk. Really? Dieter and I glanced at each other with confusion. “Yeah, I mean it was busy as fuck, but we had fun,” Dieter answered.

“The footage you took was great by the way…and so were your social media posts. The fans ate it up,” Joe said.

“Did you guys take the time to do anything fun? I saw the open mic night video…” Stacia interjected.

There it is. Dieter gave a tight smile as he looked between them, “Not really. We stayed pretty busy with rehearsals for this and SNL. We barely had time to eat and sleep.”

Stacia gave us a disbelieving look, “But you did open mic night?”

Dieter shrugged, “The SNL cast invited us out for dinner that night. We sort of got roped into it.”

Stacia pursed her lips and nodded before asking, “Where did you rehearse? The hotel said you didn’t use the rented space.”

Dieter and I both grimaced before he answered, “Yeah, sorry. There was a large outdoor terrace with our suite. We just used that. It was more convenient with our crazy hours.”

She gave a tight smile in return, “Well, I’m happy the suite worked out so well for you two then.”

She sighed, the vibe shifting as she leaned back into her seat and rubbed at her temples, “Kat, we need to talk about what happened last night with Alec…I wanna hear your side of it before we do anything.”

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “What did he say happened?”

She shook her head, “No. I want you to tell me your version of what happened first.” My version. So that’s how this is gonna go. Great.

I took a controlled breath, the last thing I needed to do was lose it on them.

“After the show, I went to my dressing room. He was there waiting for me. When I walked in, he grabbed me from behind, shoved me up against the wall, mouthed off for a minute, then started choking me. By that point, Marc and Stefanie had gone to get Dieter. He was trying to get in, but Alec had locked the door. I managed to elbow Alec in the face and he let go long enough for me to unlock it. Dieter came in and pulled him off me.”

Her eyes shifted between me and Dieter, “So, Dieter didn’t attack him?”

I shrugged, “He pushed Alec away from me and then Alec fell to the floor.”

She was quiet for a beat, studying us. “Alec says that Dieter found you two alone…talking, and then attacked him.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. Anything to make himself look better. Then it occurred to me, maybe he didn’t realize how much Marc and Stefanie had actually seen. He only saw Marc pulling Dieter off of him. What a fucking dumbass.

“Well, that’s a lie. Dieter was protecting me. Alec attacked me.”

Stacia’s eyes narrowed as they shifted between us, “I need for you to tell me what’s going on between the three of you so we can figure out how to move forward. Did you cheat on him with Dieter? What’s the deal? Why’s he mad enough to attack you? Make it make sense.”

Bitch. She’s one hundred percent fishing for information. I felt Dieter nudge my leg under the table. I pressed mine against his as I leaned forward.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but no, I didn’t cheat on him. He cheated on me. With Lana. He's pissed because I’ve run out of chances to give and I’m standing up for myself. I’m done and he can’t accept it. He’s trying to make us out to be the bad guys…to make himself feel better and it’s not working in his favor because we haven’t done anything wrong.”

I could see Stacia’s jaw clench as she digested my explanation. I purposefully didn’t address mine and Dieter’s current relationship status. I could tell that she was trying to work out how to get that question answered without asking again. Joe sighed heavily beside her and shook his head as he leaned forward to speak.

“Look, I pulled the security footage. Where the camera is in the hallway…I couldn’t see everything. I could see that he went to your dressing room and waited for you, and I could see how Marc and Stefanie reacted after you went inside and how Dieter was reacting after they went and got him. Their story matches yours, so I’m inclined to believe that Alec is lying. That’s grounds to remove him from the cast…”

I interrupted him, “No. Don’t. Let him stay.”

I could feel Dieter’s shocked eyes on me as I continued, “When we win, I want it to be because we beat him, not because he got kicked off. All that I ask is that you have security nearby when we’re all here. Make it known to him that you know what happened and the only reason he’s still here is because of my grace and because I wanna crush his fucking ego by winning the competition with Dieter.”

Joe moved to speak but I cut him off by holding up my hand, “I’m not done. My other request is that you both stop your fucking meddling. This is partially your fault too. You were trying your hardest to manufacturer drama for this season and you fucking got it. You wanted your cast romance, now you got that with Alec and Lana…so leave us alone.”

Stacia suddenly looked hurt by my words as she spoke up, “Kat, we had no idea this would happen, we couldn’t have. You can’t blame us for this.”

I scoffed, “No, but you hoped something…would happen.”

She sighed, “Look, I knew Alec was sort of an asshole, but I never would have thought he would attack you. You didn’t deserve it…and I am sorry if we created the conditions for it. It wasn’t the intention.”

Her apology almost seemed genuine, until she opened her mouth again.

“You and Dieter are the fan favorites right now. Our ratings are up because people wanna see you two together…and you guys have become close friends. I can’t apologize for our decision to partner you up or for our focus on you. I still think it was the right thing to do, and I stand by that.”

“Oh no, I’m happy you put Dieter and I together. It's the intentions behind your choices that are the problem…just so we’re clear.”

Stacia and I locked eyes. I could tell she wanted to say more, but she was cut off by Joe, who seemed to be handling this more sensibly.

“Well, given that you don’t want us to let Alec go, I do think we need to make some changes. During the professional performances, if you need to partner up, you’ll be working with Marc from now on. He didn’t like working with Anika anyway. And maybe we split the professionals up into two troupes so we can keep you guys apart as much as possible. I’m sure Emily can make that work with the choreography somehow.”

Joe rattled on about some other precautions he wanted to put into place for a bit longer, then they finally let that topic drop and got back to business. Stacia pulled out the sketches for this week’s costumes. They had me in a short lacy black dress with a low back and long sleeves. It left little to the imagination, but I was used to that. So, I gave a quick nod of approval. They had Dieter in simple black pants and a black long sleeve button up dress shirt.

Stacia seemed a little more reserved than normal as she went over the details. Our earlier conversation had obviously struck some sort of nerve with her.

“This week we have you two doing the Argentine Tango to the song You Put A Spell On Me.”

Joe smiled smugly, “That should be an interesting one. Can’t wait to see what you two come up with.”

Based on his reaction to it, I assumed this wasn’t the same song that I was familiar with. He seemed too giddy about it. I glanced over at Dieter. His brows were slightly furrowed. He seemed just as intrigued as I was. We were done soon after that, not wanting to hang around any longer than we had to.

After grabbing a quick lunch at the small Greek diner at Dieter’s suggestion, we made our way to the dance studio to begin rehearsals for the week. We started like we always did, by cueing up our song. Both of us sat sprawled out on the floor as the sultry notes greeted us. I suddenly felt hot as my skin prickled from the music. It was beyond sexy and had my mind racing with ideas that were not meant for a public performance.

Dieter and I sat listening, wide-eyed as we fully took in the lyrics. Once the song ended, his brows pinched together as he pursed his lips. I could already tell he had some sort of sarcastic comment brewing.

“So…,” he finally said with a look of confusion, “Do they just want us to have sex on the dance floor? Because I feel like they want us to have sex on the dance floor. They’re just asking for it at this point…Which is not very family friendly of them...”

I chuckled. He wasn’t wrong. It was a very sexual song.

“How spicy are we allowed to be? I feel like we should push the limits of what’s acceptable just to be obnoxious and because they won’t expect it,” he added.

Honestly, the thought of it was sort of thrilling. I had never taken that route with a performance on the show before. Doing it with Dieter made it seem even more tantalizing because I knew it would piss Alec off and get people’s attention.

“Well…there have been some pretty racy performances in the past, so it’s not out of the question.”

Dieter giggled, “Let’s just see how many different ways we can act out the lyrics.”

I snorted, “Act out the lyrics? Really? You want me to undress you on the dance floor?”

He scratched at his scruff as he smirked, “Why not? You are a pro at getting me naked.”

I felt heat creeping up my cheeks as I gave him an admonishing look, which caused him to let out one of his boisterous laughs.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him as he moved to stand. He then framed his arms up and began stomping back and forth dramatically in a stereotypical tango style dance, “Come on Kit Kat, let's get to it. Time to get nasty.”

I couldn’t help laughing at him. His playfulness always got to me. I loved that he now showed me this side of himself. Thinking back to our first week together, he never would have acted like this. He had opened up so much since then. I could feel my heart do a little flutter at the thought as I stood to join him.

I grabbed his hand, pulling him toward me so he would stop the ridiculous stomping thing he was doing. “First of all…this is an Argentine Tango, not an International Tango…or whatever it is you think you’re doing….”

He dropped his head and snorted out a laugh as I gave him a teasing smile.

“It’s not as stiff…doesn’t have the quick and decisive movements that most people associate with the tango. The hold is different, allowing for more freedom of expression so that the dance can be anything from slow and sensual to fast and strong. We’ll need to include intertwining leg combos and dynamic lifts. The judges will be looking for those.”

He was in full student mode now, listening intently and nodding along. I smiled, deciding to throw him a curve ball, suggestively running my fingers down his chest as I spoke.

“The best description I’ve ever heard that explains the difference in the two dances is that the International Tango is for dancing with your wife and the Argentine Tango is for dancing with your lover.”

He nodded as a wide smile spread across his face, “I’m pretty sure I can handle it given that we’ve nailed the horizontal tango already...”

I closed my eyes, biting my bottom lip to stifle a laugh. “I can’t win with you…” I finally managed to huff out. He gave me a smug smile and shrugged.

I continued on, still fighting a smile, “Anyway, let’s start with the hold then we can go through some gancho and staccato leg combos. I think that’ll probably be the hardest part for you to get. Then we’ll go from there.”

Once Dieter got the basics down, we began to build our routine. Both of us laughing and having more fun than we usually did. It seemed that our evolving relationship off the dance floor was changing the dynamic on it as well. The communication between us came easily now. So much of it being non-verbal. We just got each other. It was a true partnership full of trust and friendship on top of everything else that our relationship fostered. It almost seemed too perfect.

Dieter was flowing with ideas and more involved with planning the choreography than any of my past partners had ever been. I loved seeing his face light up when he had an idea and his excitement when he shared it. It made the process so much more enjoyable and made me feel closer to him somehow. His openness felt like a testament to his trust in me which I knew was a big deal for him.

We managed to plan out the majority of the routine before our studio time was up. We left feeling good about where we were. As provocative as the routine was, we did somehow manage to behave ourselves and keep it professional. That didn’t stop the heated glances from passing between us or the occasional lingering touches though.

By the time I was in the car and following Dieter to his house, I was feeling fairly worked up. The anticipation of having some alone time with him had butterflies forming in my stomach and wetness between my thighs. I couldn’t help wondering how the evening would go as we pulled into his driveway.

He wasted no time pulling me in for a passionate kiss after I stepped out of the car - one hand on my cheek as the other wrapped around my waist and pulled me against him.

He broke away with a relieved sigh and smiled, “I’ve been dying to do that all day.”

I chuckled at his enthusiasm as he turned and pulled me toward the door, never releasing his hold around my waist as he keyed into the house. The moment the door opened, we were greeted by Zee. Only then did he let go of me to bend down and pick her up.

Zee nuzzled her face against his beard as he cradled her to his chest, murmuring a quiet, “Hey baby girl, I’ve missed you today” into her fur as she began to purr. It made my heart melt to watch him with her. I never would have guessed that Dieter Bravo was capable of being this tender and sweet before getting to know him.

After snuggling her for a beat, he turned to me with a dimpled smile as he approached. Zee was now lazily leaning her head in my direction, letting out a soft meow as she gave me a slow blink. I didn’t hesitate to reach and scratch behind her ears. She stretched out on her back in his arms, reaching to place her paw on my face.

Dieter chuckled and stepped closer so she could rub her face against my chin as my hand stroked the long silky fur on her chest. There wasn’t a mat in sight. I smiled, “Looks like somebody is taking their cat grooming responsibilities seriously.”

Dieter's cheeks flushed as he shrugged, “Yeah…she likes it…and I’ve read it’s a good bonding activity. So, I don’t deny her when she wants her hair brushed.”

I snickered, “She’s got you wrapped around her little paw.”

He sighed slowly pulling Zee away and setting her down, “Yeah, it seems I’m a sucker when it comes to my two favorite ladies…Come on. I’ll get dinner started.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen, “Hopefully Cora remembered to put the chicken in the marinade before she left. If not, we may have a problem.”

My brows knitted together, “Who’s Cora?”

He smiled, “She’s my housekeeper…a little spitfire of a lady. I think you’ll love her. I need to introduce you.”

I nodded, noticing the affectionate smile on his face as he talked about Cora. It made me curious about her, but I didn’t question him further.

I watched him rummage through the refrigerator before pulling out ingredients, including the marinated chicken. He got to work, refusing to let me help. When I tried, he leaned down and lifted me by my thighs and planted me on top of the island. After a quick peck on the lips, he told me not to move. My only job was to “watch the master at work.”

Zee soon joined me on the island, swishing her tail as she paced back and forth, attempting to lay eyes on what her dad was cooking. She shocked me by jumping across the distance between the island and Dieter’s back, landing on his shoulder with a loud meow as he laid out the chicken in a baking dish. He didn’t even flinch.

I snickered, “Based on your lack of a reaction, I take it this isn’t the first time she’s done that.”

He laughed and shook his head, “Nope. She’s a nosey little shit and thinks any sort of protein is for her. Especially chicken.”

Zee watched intently over his shoulder as he worked. She stayed perched there as he moved to the sink to wash his hands. Afterwards, he leaned down, allowing her to jump down onto the counter so he could put the chicken in the oven.

He turned toward me, moving to stand between my thighs as he rested his palms on the counter at my hips. His nose nudged against mine as he asked in a low voice that gave me goosebumps, “Would you rather have garlic and herb roasted potatoes or rice and cooked vegetables with your Greek Lemon Chicken?”

I smiled against his lips, “You’re making me Greek Lemon Chicken?”

He nodded, “I am…What can I say? I love spoiling my girls.”

My stomach felt topsy-turvy at his words. Hearing him say the word love in relation to me in any way had me feeling some kind of way. As he leaned in to kiss me, I felt tingly all over, realizing that I might actually be falling for him…hard. I had to beat back the small wave of panic I suddenly felt.

He pulled away with a playful smile, “Hopefully it doesn’t taste like shit. I’ve never made it before.”

I laughed nervously as a new wave of emotions hit me once I realized he was learning to cook Greek food for me.

“You’re trying Greek recipes for me, are ya?” I asked teasingly in an attempt to distract myself.

He nodded, “I am. Just doing what I can to keep ya around…for Zee’s sake, of course. She needs a woman in her life.”

I smiled even though my mind was racing with the implications of what he was saying. Was he feeling this as deeply as I was?

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s all for her,” I finally said with a chuckle.

He shook his head, smiling as he leaned in for another soft kiss before adding, “You’re right. It’s not. I’m one hundred percent whipped by you both.”

He paused, huffing out a laugh as he threaded his fingers through my hair and briefly allowed his eyes to roam over my face. After inhaling deeply, he asked, “Now, what does my other girl want to eat with her chicken?”

I took a moment to get lost in his chocolate colored eyes, taking in the crinkles around the edges from the small smile on his lips. I loved it when his eyes crinkled like that. That’s how I knew his smile was genuine.

“I think I’ll take the rice and veggies.”

His hands moved to my hips, squeezing gently as he gave me a quick peck on the forehead. He pulled away with a smile, “As you wish…Now, watch the culinary king create a masterpiece for your tastebuds.”

He got to work, chopping the veggies. Zee came over to inspect, seeming intrigued by the spread, but ultimately decided it wasn’t for her and went to entertain herself with a fake mouse toy on the floor.

Even though Dieter was occupied with his cooking duties, that didn’t make him any less attentive toward me. Conversation flowed and he made sure to continue his light touches and shared the occasional kiss as he moved around the kitchen. It was strangely romantic and intimate in a new way for me. I could see myself spending every evening like this with him. The fact that my mind was even going there scared me, worried that I was getting in too deep too fast. I somehow managed to bury that thought in the back of my mind each time he looked at me with his soft eyes and boyish smile.

Once the chicken was done, Zee turned into a little terrorist determined to get her share. I lost track of the number of times Dieter had to shoo her away while it was cooling. I couldn’t help laughing as those two had a near standoff over the cooked poultry. Because of Zee’s insistence, Dieter suggested that we eat on the patio since it had been such a nice day. That way we wouldn't have to deal with her “bratty” behavior. I agreed with a chuckle.

To keep her distracted, he made her dinner. She ate quietly in the corner as we made our plates and gathered everything we needed to move to the patio. Dieter made sure to hide the chicken away in the oven before we finally sat down to eat.

The meal was amazing of course and I made sure to tell him as much. He acted smug over the complement, but that didn’t stop his cheeks from flushing a little. We were both relaxed, discussing the most random topics and getting to know each other just a little bit more. It was nice to be with him like this for a change - to hear his laughter and see him truly happy.

After eating, Dieter insisted that I go relax while he cleaned up. He refused to have any other outcome. So, I made my way over to one of the loungers next to the fire pit and settled in. Dieter joined me a few minutes later, switching on the fire pit before reclining in the lounger beside me. He made a pouty face as he stuck out his arms, motioning for me to come sit with him. I chuckled as I stood, moving to sit between his spread thighs as he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me against his chest. He nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck, causing me to giggle from where his scruff tickled the sensitive skin.

We sat like that for a time, just listening to the waves of the ocean and enjoying being in each other's embrace. It felt so easy with him. Almost too easy, which was a little concerning if I dwelled on it. I pushed that thought away, twisting so that I could look up at him. He gave me a soft smile, his eyes crinkling as he looked down at me and reached to cup my cheek.

“I’ve missed being able to do this the last few days,” he finally said.

I smirked, closing the distance between us and sucking on his bottom lip. He deepened the kiss as I shifted in his arms, moving to straddle his hips as he set up straighter and pulled me against him. Just as I felt him growing hard under me, he pulled away, brushing the hair back out of my face as he peered up at me. His eyes danced around my face with a sort of serene expression.

“I don’t know that I’ve properly told you how fucking beautiful you are.”

I gave him a dismissive laugh as my cheeks burned under his palms. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine, “Stay with me tonight, please?”

His voice was almost pleading as he asked. Something about the way he sounded tugged at my heart a bit. I smiled against his lips as I dipped my hands under the hem of his shirt to explore his chest.

“I had already planned on it,” I replied before kissing him again. He didn’t deepen it. Instead, he pulled away and nuzzled his face into my chest as he hugged me just a little tighter, “Don’t get any ideas…I just wanna cuddle. No funny business.”

Something about his tone told me he wasn’t trying to be funny. He sounded serious, but I wasn’t sure. I scoffed jokingly, “How presumptuous of you.”

He was quiet for a beat, breathing me in. He finally pulled away with a smirk, “I’m just teasing. I do mean it though, I don’t wanna do anything tonight. I just wanna be with you.”

I gave him a confused look. Can’t say I’ve ever heard a guy say that before. He seemed unsure of himself suddenly, averting his gaze. I reached for his chin and tilted it toward me. “What’s this about?” I asked in a gentle tone. Something was obviously on his mind.

He sighed, “You’re probably gonna think I’m nuts…but…I don’t want this thing between us to just be about sex. I wanna spend time with you…get to know you…connect in other ways. You know what I mean? You’re too important to me for it to turn into that. I’m still learning how to do this relationship thing and I wanna do it right.”

I stared at him, a little dumbfounded and turned on by the fact that he didn’t want to have sex. What the hell is wrong with me?

He grimaced, “Please say something.”

I huffed out a laugh, “I…I’m trying really hard not to be turned on by this.”

He chuckled, “That wasn’t my goal, but I’ll take it as a positive response.”

I reached to run my fingers through his hair as I smiled over his smug look, “What planet did you come from?”

He laughed and shrugged, pulling me back against him, his ear to my chest as my fingers scratched at his scalp. He hummed at the feeling, leaning into me much like a needy puppy does when you scratch just the right spot.

Dieter was true to his word, not taking it any further even though I could tell parts of him wanted to. Instead, I ended up stretching out against him, cuddling as we watched the sunset and talked about the most random topics. There was lots of laughter, gentle kisses, and caresses throughout. It was refreshing. I couldn’t recall the last time Alec and I had spent time together like that, or if we ever really had. He was always so guarded about everything, which often left a lingering tension in the air between us. It never felt like that with Dieter. He had a way of making me feel at ease and content. He was always smiling and had such a playful and positive energy, it was hard not to match it.

As the hour grew late, we finally made our way inside. I watched as Dieter moved through the downstairs to lock up and turn everything off. His last step of his nightly routine was to give Zee a snack of boiled chicken. I watched as she jumped up on the island and patiently waited for him to pull it out of the refrigerator. The ‘Queen Zee’s Fucking Chicken’ label on the bowl caught my attention and made me snort in laughter as Dieter shredded small pieces and handed them over to her. When I asked what that was about, he shrugged and laughed, “Evan made that. Said something about her screaming at him over it. They’re both so dramatic, there’s no telling what actually went down.”

After he washed his hands, he walked over to stand in front of me, placing his hands on my hips as he pulled me against him with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You ready to go to bed?”

I quirked an eyebrow at him, feeling like he was up to something. “I need to run out to the car to get my bag.”

He pursed his lips, “Ehh, I’ll go get it for you in the morning.”

I smirked, “But what will I sleep in?”

He fought a smile, “You can raid my closet…or wear nothing. I’m not picky.”

I gave him an admonishing look, “I thought we were behaving?”

He shrugged as a wide grin formed on his face, “We are. Skin to skin cuddling for adults is a very healthy thing to do. It lowers cortisol levels and releases oxytocin. I fully support naked cuddling as a form of bonding.”

I chuckled, “You’re such a nerd, which is pleasantly surprising…and kind of a turn on…”

He laughed loudly, “Is there anything that isn’t a turn on for you today?”

I leaned in, smiling against his lips before answering, “Apparently not…”

After giving me a quick kiss, without warning, he leaned down and hoisted me over his shoulder like a fucking caveman. I squealed as he laughed maniacally and made his way up the stairs, grabbing a generous handful of my ass as he went. Once in his room, he sat me down, still laughing as I playfully pushed him away from me.

I turned to survey the room for the first time. It was the only room I hadn’t seen when he previously gave me a tour of his place. I wasn’t sure what I expected. It was similar to the rest of the house, clean with cream colored walls and bedding accented with deep earth tones. He had a few plants sitting around, my eyes automatically focusing in on the obnoxious penis cactus on one of his nightstands. I laughed and shook my head as I pointed at it, “Aren’t you worried about grabbing that thing by mistake when you’re half asleep?”

He chuckled, “No, I don’t usually put anything on that side of the bed…buuut since you’re here…I’ll move it…can’t have you gettin’ confused and grabbing the wrong erection.”

I cackled as I watched him move it from the nightstand to the dresser. I couldn’t help it. He had such a naughty sense of humor, and I loved it. Once he had it situated in just the right spot, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward one of the other doors, which opened up to a massive bathroom. I couldn’t help admiring the tub. It looked heavenly. He followed my line of sight and chuckled, “I told you I had a hydrotherapy tub.”

“Well, it would be less weird if I took advantage of that now…obviously.”

I could hear him snicker as he rummaged around in the linen closet, then pulled out a new toothbrush and handed it to me.

I gave him a deadpan stare, “You tryin’ to tell me something?”

He laughed, “No! I just know you’re routine and I have extras.”

He pulled the toothpaste out of a drawer, put a dab on his brush then stuck it in his mouth. He passed the tube to me once I got the toothbrush out of the packaging. I watched him dig around in another drawer and pull out a hairbrush. It sort of shocked me when he moved to stand at my back and began running it through my hair, completely neglecting the toothbrush that was hanging from his mouth. After sitting the hairbrush down, his fingers got to work, struggling a bit at first, but eventually working the strands into a simple braid. Once he got to the bottom, he reached for my wrist with his free hand and pulled the hair tie off it to twist around the end of the braid. I watched in the mirror as he stood back and rather smugly admired his handy work as he began to brush his teeth.

After spitting some of the toothpaste out, I turned to him, “Are you trying to ruin me for all other men, Bravo?

He smirked, “No, not intentionally…but is it working?”

“The jury is still out on that…”

Once we finished brushing our teeth, I followed him into his closet, which was just as ridiculous as his bathroom.

“Fucking hell, this is bigger than my bedroom,” I said as I looked around. “Why do you need such a big closet? It’s not even one third of the way full,” I asked with a disbelieving laugh.

He shrugged, “I don’t, it just came with the house.” He pursed his lips in thought and gave me an odd look before adding, “Room to grow I guess.”

I felt like he was insinuating something, but I wasn’t sure. Instead, I rolled my eyes as I walked over to the stacks of folded t-shirts on a shelf. I could feel his eyes on me as I flipped through them, smiling over some of the funnier ones. Keeping my back to him, I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. I could hear his breath hitch as I reached back to unhook my bra and allowed it to fall to the floor. I then slid my leggings down, standing there in nothing but my black underwear as I plucked one of his t-shirts from the stack and put it on.

When I turned toward him, he was standing there staring at me with his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face. I held my hands out with palms up, “Well, whatta ya think? Fits perfectly, no?”

He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at me, hesitating before allowing his eyes to sweep down my body. He reached up and scratched at his chin, “Fucking is my cardio…really? That’s the one you went for?”

I laughed, looking down at the shirt, “I think maybe we need to update it…cross out ‘fucking’ and write in ‘dancing’ above it?”

He shook his head as he slowly walked toward me. His voice low, almost teasing, “Oh no, fucking is definitely still part of my cardio routine…though I don’t believe I’ve fucked you properly yet. I’ve taken a more…sensual approach so far…which I’ve found I actually kind of prefer.”

Our eyes were locked as he reached to cup my cheek, “Somehow you’ve managed to bring out that side of me for the first time ever…and I’m enjoying it more than I thought I could.”

His intense gaze, sultry tone, and sudden vulnerability had me involuntarily clenching my thighs together. The effect he had on my body was insane. I no longer had any control over it.

“Are you trying to test my limits right now? Because if you are, I’m very close to failing…”

He laughed as he leaned in to give me a chaste kiss, “Come on honey, let's get you in bed.”

I groaned in protest as he tugged me along behind him toward the bed. After pulling the covers back, he motioned for me to climb in, smacking my ass as I did so - which definitely didn’t do anything to help my current state of arousal. I settled in on my back as he stripped down to his boxer briefs, then turned off the light. After climbing into bed beside me, he tangled his legs with mine. His hand sought out the hem of his t-shirt that I was wearing, snaking up under it to rest around my middle after he pulled me closer to his chest. He nestled his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply then sighing in contentment.

Moments later, the foot of the bed dipped as Zee jumped up onto it. Dieter sucked air through his teeth, “Oooh shit. We may have a problem here…”

I chuckled, “Why’s that?”

“You’re in her spot…”

“Oh, that is problematic…”

Zee made her way up the bed, then sat beside me as her tail whipped back and forth. I could feel her eyes on us as she surveyed the current sleeping arrangements. She let out a loud meow as I reached to pet her, hoping to keep peace. I felt Dieter suck in a deep breath and hold it while he waited to see how she would respond. She was still as a statue until I found just the right spot behind her ear. She leaned into the scratches as her eyes drifted shut. She seemed satisfied with my offering, finally moving to snuggle into the crook of my arm opposite Dieter.

Dieter huffed out a relieved laugh against my neck, “That was nerve wracking. I thought she was about to battle it out with you.”

I snickered, “Honestly, I thought so too. Good thing I'm comfortable because it doesn't look like I’m moving anytime soon…”

I felt his rumbling laugh against my neck as he shifted, leaning up to give me a chaste kiss goodnight. It wasn’t long before he was asleep, his mouth opened slightly as he snored quietly. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, I could just make out his features from the moonlight streaming in through the windows. His face looked almost childlike as the creases between his brows relaxed and disappeared. His messy curls hung down over his face, adding to the effect. I found myself wondering what he looked like when he was little, wondering if his aquiline nose had the same pronounced curve or if it developed that way over time. He really was beautiful, even with his patchy beard that never seemed to fully grow and slightly graying hair.

I took some time reflecting on the last several days. Dieter had been so attentive toward me, making sure that I was taken care of and always checking in about my feelings. He had also shown me his vulnerable side several times. I couldn’t believe that he was open about his fears with SNL, admitting how nervous he was the night of the performance. That was something Alec never would have done out of fear that he would look weak. This didn’t make Dieter seem weak to me though. If anything, it showed me how emotionally mature he was and his willingness to be open with me. He really surprised me with that.

Then there were the moments in his dressing room before the show when it was just us, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Not being afraid to be ourselves out of fear of judgment. He was so unapologetically himself with me and I loved that about him. I loved that he trusted me enough to show his soft and goofy side. He appeared to be welcoming me into his life with open arms and holding nothing back.

I couldn’t help letting my mind wander to all of his past relationships, if that was even the right word. Maybe the term ‘hookups’ was more appropriate? I thought of that actress, Sophie, whatever her name was. A petite redhead with big breasts and a tiny waist. It was hard not to compare myself to her. We were completely different physically. Dieter had said that he wasn’t interested in her, but he had obviously been attracted to something about her at one point.

I wondered if maybe she was adventurous in bed, if that was the kind of thing he was into? I had never really been like that with anyone, which did worry me some. I couldn’t help thinking that he might eventually get bored with me because I clearly wasn’t like any of these people we had encountered that he had a history with. It didn’t mean that I couldn’t be that way though. There was something about him that made me want to try.

Dieter had a way of making me feel brazen. I could tell he liked it when I was like that, open about how my body reacted to him while teasing his. I enjoyed getting a rise out of him, which only emboldened me further. Maybe that’s all I really needed to hold his attention? To show him that he was wanted.

It wasn’t like it was hard for me to show how much I wanted him when he does the things that he does. Things like standing there on a nationally televised stage in his ridiculous ‘Plant Daddy’ t-shirt that I had bought for him that happened to fit just perfectly across his chest and snugly around his broad shoulders and sculpted arms as he asked me if I wanted to have sex with him. He was completely unconcerned that we were surrounded by dozens of people, mics, and cameras. Not to mention how he changed up that line in his monologue. He liked to push the limits too and he did it because he knew it got a rise out of me.

All of the teasing between us had turned into a mind-blowing evening once we got back to the hotel. He didn’t hesitate to let me take charge or to be open with me about his desires. There was no guessing with him, he was willing to show me what he liked while also allowing me to try my own thing without making me feel like I was doing something wrong. We worked together, exploring and learning each other's bodies and discovering new things about ourselves in the process.

Watching Dieter come undone beneath me felt empowering. It actually helped my confidence where it had been so brutally damaged by Alec, often making me feel like our less than satisfying sex life was my fault. Dieter helped me realize it wasn’t and allowed me to find that side of myself again. Seeing him writhing in pleasure because of me, watching his eyes dilate and blow wide as he took in my naked body, it unleashed something in me. Knowing that there was no way he could possibly fake the reaction his body was having to me as he gasped for air through clenched teeth and completely lost his senses should have been enough to calm the unsettling feeling that was suddenly creeping into my gut. It should have been enough to silence my doubts.

I reasoned with myself that any doubt I was having was because of Alec and the emotional damage he had caused. Dieter was not Alec. He was nothing like him. He made that perfectly clear when he found the vibrator then proceeded to use it as we had sex the following morning. He took his time, asking and learning how I liked it. Then blew my fucking mind. Again, showing me how attentive he was and making sure we both enjoyed the experience. Not at all selfish like Alec.

It wasn’t even really about the sex or the mind blowing orgasms he somehow managed to draw out of me. It went deeper than that. Through all of it, I could feel an emotional connection with him. It was strong enough that it made my heart feel like it was beating out of my chest. He was already bonding with me in ways that Alec never even tried to. If nothing else settled my doubts, then that should. He told me this meant something to him, and I knew he believed in what he said.

I also had to consider how protective Dieter had been, even before the dressing room incident. Going so far as to make sure my locks got changed so Alec couldn’t get into the house. He had also put himself between me and the paparazzi at the airport, essentially putting himself in the line of fire. He didn’t have to do any of that. It was obvious he cared about me, and I had no reason to doubt what we were building.

I now knew I was falling hard and fast for him, and it scared the hell out of me. I couldn’t help being worried about being hurt again, especially after what I had just gone through with Alec. I knew if something went wrong with Dieter, it was going to hurt ten times worse because things had been going so well between us. I knew I needed to stop thinking this way because I had no reason to. I was getting into my head about it. He cared about me and was putting in the work to prove it. That was enough.

As I glanced back down at his perfectly handsome face, my doubts vanished. He was here with me now, in his bed after asking me to stay. He’s allowing me into parts of his life no one else has been before. He wants me to be part of it.

Those were my last thoughts as I finally drifted off to sleep.

Dieter’s POV

On Wednesday morning I awoke to the feeling of Kat’s fingertips drawing circles on my bare skin. I could feel my heartbeat speed up under her touch, relishing in how amazing it felt to wake up to her wrapped around me in my bed. She was laying with her head against my chest and one leg hitched over mine. Zee had somehow managed to worm her way in between my spread legs and was sprawled out on her back, snoring softly.

I laid there unmoving as I took in the sight before me so that I could commit it to memory. I couldn’t remember ever waking up feeling as complete and happy as I did in that moment. It was something that I had longed for and didn’t even think possible. I felt like my life was finally beginning to turn into what I had always wanted. If this was going to be my new normal, I knew I could die a happy man.

Kat surprised me with a sleepy “good morning” as she continued to draw circles along my stomach.

I smiled, “How’d you know I was awake?”

She shifted, propping her chin on her hand to look at me with a smile, “You’re breathing changed…and I could hear your heart rate pick up.”

I chuckled as I reached to push away the loose strands of hair from her face. “I like waking up to you in my bed more than I realized I would,” I confessed.

She smiled as she leaned into my touch, “I liked waking up in your bed more than I realized I would, too.”

I sighed, “I can’t wait until we have a day off so we can stay here all day.”

“Hmmm that does sound amazing. Sign me up.”

I glanced over at the clock, realizing the alarm would be going off soon.

“Hows about I go make you a quick breakfast before you go to rehearsal?” I asked.

She groaned, “Ugh, I don’t wanna go. The whole cast is probably gonna be all weird and judgy now.”

My lips set into a tight line, “Is Alec supposed to be there?”

She shook her head, “No, I don’t think so. According to the schedule they sent over they have the two groups rehearsing at different times.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Doesn’t mean he won’t be lurking around though. Just please be careful. I still don’t trust that asshole.”

She smiled, “Don’t worry, Marc will be there. I’m sure he’ll keep an eye on me.”

I nodded, feigning a stern look, “He better.”

She laughed, “He will…don’t worry.”

I watched as her eyes explored my face before she asked, “So, what do you have planned this morning?”

I grimaced, “Well, I have an appointment with my therapist for what I’m sure will be a very interesting session. Her head may explode…”

“Ooof. Are you gonna tell her about us?”

My hand found the hem of the t-shirt she was still wearing and pulled it upwards so that I could run my fingers along her spine as I took a moment to think about it.

“Well, I know she’s gonna ask how New York went. She’s been very curious about our relationship from the beginning…”

Kat smirked, “Oh really? And why’s that?”

I chewed on my lip as heat crept into my cheeks. Oh well, no sense in hiding it now.

“Aside from the fact that I was actually building a friendship with someone new, I think she could sense that I was attracted to you. I did eventually fess up to it in one of our more recent sessions.”

Her smile widened, “You’ve been talking to your therapist about me this whole time?”

I swallowed thickly and nodded, “Yes. Does that bother you?”

She shook her head, “No…not at all. What does she say about me?”

I chuckled, “I’m pretty sure she’s a closet Deiterina Stan…”

Kat laughed loudly at that. I knew it would get her.

Once she settled, I continued, “I’m only half joking. She’s…actually been very positive and supportive of our friendship and encouraged me to tell you how I was feeling once I realized it. She thinks you’re a positive influence and good for me. I tend to agree with that assessment.”

Her brows furrowed as her eyes turned glassy. She pulled herself upwards to lean in closer for a needy kiss. I deepened it before she pulled away, slightly breathless as she smiled down at me.

“I’m actually happy she feels that way. I was a bit worried she would think it’s too soon for you to pursue anything.”

I hugged her tighter against me, “Na, I’m in a good place. Really. I’m nearly ten months sober. She’s been happy with my progress. Especially since I started the show…it’s kept me busy and gave me a little more purpose…and you.”

She smiled, leaning in for another kiss just as my alarm went off. That was Zee’s cue to get up, stretching her legs outward as she made her way up the bed to greet us while I turned to shut the alarm off. After a few minutes of kitty snuggles, we finally got out of bed. I ran to Kat’s car to get her bag out so she could get ready for the professionals morning rehearsal while I made us a quick breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast. I was rinsing a small bowl of fruit off when she walked into the kitchen with a smile, coming up behind me to wrap her arms around my waist and giving me a peck on the cheek.

“Need help with anything?” she asked as she rested her chin against my shoulder.

I shook my head as I shut the water off, “Nope, just finishing up actually.”

When I turned around, I found Zee stealthily inching down the counter toward the plate of bacon. I sighed, shooing her away while muttering about her being nothing but a pain in the ass as Kat laughed. I then realized Kat was still wearing my ‘Fucking is my cardio’ t-shirt, only she had tied it into a knot in the back and added some leggings to go with it. Something about the thought of her wearing my clothes in public made my dick twitch.

I gave her a flirty smirk, “You’re here one night and you’re already stealing my clothes and wearing them in public.”

She shrugged, “You’ll get over it. Besides, if they want to stare and gossip during rehearsals, might as well give them something to look at. Maybe Someone will tell Alec that I suddenly have a proclivity for fucking.”

I snorted out a laugh. That certainly wasn’t the response I was expecting, but I fucking loved it.

“This might be a sign you’re spending too much time with me…but I’m not complaining. I also like the thought of you being in my clothes when I’m not around. It’s kind of sexy…”

She gave me a sly smile, “Good. You can think about that while you’re telling your therapist how I rode you senseless when we were in New York.”

I nearly choked on my own spit as she turned to pile food on her plate with the devious grin still on her face.

“You’ve definitely been spending too much time with me, but I like it,” I finally said through a laugh, suddenly feeling incredibly turned on by her dirty sense of humor. I gave her a grabby pat on the ass before turning my attention to breakfast. We ate quickly and in silence because Kat needed to get to the dance studio. After a rather passionate goodbye kiss and ear scratches for Zee, she was on her way with a promise to see me for our evening rehearsal.

I couldn’t stop smiling over how our morning had gone as I got ready for and drove to my therapy session. I really hoped this would be our new normal because it was everything. If every day started this way there’s no way I would ever go back to my dark place.

Dr. Smith seemed to sense my good mood as soon as I sat down across from her. She gave me a genuine smile as she asked how I was feeling today.

I had to work hard to wipe the goofy grin off my face as I responded, “I’m…good today.”

Her eyes scanned over me, briefly stopping on my clasped hands in my lap. My hands were still, but my thumbs were going to war with each other as I struggled to find something to do with my excess energy.

She narrowed her eyes slightly as they finally met mine. Her head tilted to the side, “So, how did New York go?”

Fuck. Am I that transparent? She totally knows. I laughed nervously, “I mean, it went…good. SNL went really well. I seem to be back on good terms with the cast. They wanna have me back sometime, so that’s exciting…It was a lot of work with all the rehearsals for both shows, but we survived it.”

She pursed her lips, tilting her head the opposite direction as she studied me. “How did things go with Kat?”

And there it is. Getting right to it. “Ummm, good. It was nice to get away from all the drama that LA brings with it. We had a good time.”

She smiled, “Good again, huh? Everything is just…good?”

I grimaced, now scratching at my beard as I thought how best to respond. She didn’t give me the chance.

“I saw the open mic videos that are circulating online. You wanna tell me about those?”

Fuck fuck fuck. I shrugged, “Well…there’s not much to tell. We went out with the SNL cast and got roped into doing it.”

She nodded, “And your performance on Monday?”

I just stared at her. I didn’t know where she was going with this. I knew she was doing that thing where she talked me into a hole that I couldn’t dig myself out of. I shrugged as I gave her a hesitant smile, “What about it?”

She gave me a soft smile, “Dieter, I’m not blind. I can tell something has changed between you and Kat since I saw you last. Did you tell her how you were feeling?”

The pressure was getting to me. I sighed before blurting out in a rush, “Ok fine we had sex.”

More word vomit. I didn’t have to tell her that part. Fucking hell Bravo.

Her eyes widened as she leaned back in the chair, digesting what I had just said.

“Ok, well, I wasn’t expecting that… I thought maybe you just had a conversation.”

I started squeezing and unsqueezing my hands into fists over and over, now feeling like I had done something wrong. It was one of my nervous ticks. She noticed it immediately.

She held out her hand and placed it atop mine, “Please relax. I’m not upset with you. Just tell me what happened.”

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “Well…the studio had us sharing a suite. So, we were together almost every second of the day while we were there. By the end of the week…there was just a crazy tension between us. She had ended things with Alec before we left, so I was feeling a little more confident about putting myself out there and I did. It was after the open mic thing…we were rehearsing our dance on the terrace of our suite. The tension had kind of reached a boiling point by then and she kissed me. It went on from there…I let her lead things.”

Her brows arched, “So she kissed you then you had sex?”

I nodded, suddenly feeling I had maybe slipped into old habits and handled things with Kat all wrong.

“I made sure first you know…that she knew that it meant something to me. I told her and asked her if she was sure. We talked after and I stayed with her that night. It happened a couple more times before we came back to LA.”

Her brows furrowed. Yeah, this doesn’t sound good, Bravo.

“Fuck…it was different with her, ok? We…ugh fuck.” I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. I was getting a headache.

“We had a connection. It was…emotional and intimate…it wasn’t just sex.”

She arched a brow at me to continue.

I sighed, “We haven’t had sex since we’ve been back. She stayed with me last night and I told her I didn’t want to…that I didn’t want it to be about that. I swear, I’m trying really hard to do this the right way. I really do care about her. I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Dr. Smith held a neutral expression, not giving me anything when she asked, “What did you do last night?”

The question took me by surprise, “Umm…well we had rehearsal most of the day. Then we went to my place, and I cooked dinner for her. We sat outside in a lounger by the fire pit after…talking and watching the sunset. Then we went to bed.”

She narrowed her eyes, “So, you two slept in the same bed?”

I nodded, “Yeah, she slept with me and my cat.”

“And you didn’t have sex?”

I shook my head, “No. Just cuddled.”

Her eyebrow ticked upward slightly, “And what about this morning? How did things go? Any of the awkwardness you always worry about?”

I shook my head, “No. We spent a few minutes cuddling and talking about our day…then snuggled the cat. I made breakfast while she got ready… we ate…she kissed me and Zee goodbye then left for the studio.”

Dr. Smith chewed on the inside of her cheek, almost looking like she was fighting a smile. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. She was making me so fucking anxious. She leaned forward, placing an elbow on her knee, “How much have you told her about your feelings?”

Again, not the question I expected. She was confusing the fuck out of me.

“I- umm…didn’t tell her exactly how I feel…only that I have feelings for her. I didn’t wanna throw the ‘L’ word out this soon and freak her out, ya know?”

She nodded, “And how did you feel after she left this morning?”

I looked down at my fisted hands in my lap. They relaxed some as that goofy uncontrollable grin slid across my face.

“I felt…happy. I would give anything to have all my mornings be like that…and my nights. Being with her makes me feel…alive…and complete.”

I was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming feeling that caused my eyes to prickle with the threat of tears. It was good tears though.

Dr. Smith smiled, “I think you’ve made more progress than you realize. It seems you’ve gotten your impulsive tendencies under control and I’m happy to see you’re working on your aversion to intimacy. All of this time that you’re spending with Kat talking, touching, learning…without involving sex…is the type of intimacy that you need and what you’ve been denying yourself of for so long. I’m proud of you for realizing that and following through with it. I can tell that having this kind of connection to someone is changing you for the better. You seem more confident and open about your feelings which can only aid you in creating a solid foundation with her.”

I was a little stunned at her praise. Any anxiety or doubts I had quickly dissipated.

She continued, “Given that, I do want to make sure you're expanding this growth to others in your life. I don’t want your happiness to depend on Kat. I want you to have happiness in the rest of your relationships too. Continue to build up your support system and bond with each of them.”

I nodded, “I’ve been trying…not that I have a very big circle right now…but those relationships feel strong. It’s been nice having Evan back on board. We’ve patched things up pretty well I think.”

She nodded, “That’s good to hear. I’m happy that it's been working out so well with him.”

She paused, seeming unsure about where she wanted to go next. She finally asked, “I assume you and Kat are keeping your relationship to yourselves?”

I nodded, “Yeah…because of Alec.”

“How have things been with him since you guys got back from New York?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, “Uhh…not good. We had…another confrontation on Monday after the show.”

Her brows furrowed, “What kind of confrontation?”

I sighed, “He was waiting for Kat in her dressing room and attacked her…One of the other couples came to get me after they saw him. When I finally got in, he was choking her. I shoved him off her…”

I really didn’t want to get into the rest of it because I knew where this conversation was going.

“What happened after that?” Dr. Smith prodded.

I puffed air out of my cheeks knowing she wasn’t going to let it go. My hands fisted in my lap again. I could feel my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands.

“I uhhh, I pinned him on the floor and hit him a few times…then tried to strangle him…I think. I’m not really sure what I was doing or thinking…I kind of blacked out in a blind rage when I saw what he was doing to Kat.”

Her lips set into a tight line, “What stopped you?”

I stared at my clenched fists, “One of the other dancers pulled me off him.”

“Did Kat go to the police?”

I shook my head, “No. She was worried the police report would get out to the media. She’s not wrong, it probably would’ve. She said I scared the shit out of him…so she doesn’t think he’ll try anything like that again.”

Dr. Smith gave me an empathetic look, “That’s never happened with you before, has it?”

I shook my head, “I mean, I went off on my dad a few times…but that’s it. I’m not a violent person.”

She nodded, “I know you’re not…which is why I’m concerned about how that incident affected you. Did it trigger any type of trauma response?”

I can’t fucking do this. “Can we just not go there today? I’m having a good day. I don’t wanna ruin it…”

She nodded, “Yeah, we can save it for next week if you want. So long as it’s not triggering anything.”

I shook my head, “No, not actively.”

“Ok. Next week then.”

We didn’t have much time left after that. We spent the last few minutes catching up on everything that happened in New York then called it a day. As I walked to the car, I chose to focus on the positive parts of that session, because I knew dwelling on the stuff about my past would sour my good mood quickly.

Just as I arrived back at the house, my phone lit up with a call from my agent, Lenny.

“Hey Lenny, what’s up?” I asked as I answered.

There was a brief moment of crackling static on the other end, “Hey D, I just wanted to check in and see how things are going?”

“Everything’s fine, why?” These “check in” calls always put me on edge. They usually meant I was about to be in trouble over something.

“No reason. I just wanted to catch up and let you know that we’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback about SNL. It’s definitely catching people’s attention. So is the feedback from the cast. They’re singing your praises.”

I couldn’t fight my smile. It made me feel good to hear something positive in relation to my work for once.

“That’s actually nice to hear. I had a lot of fun working with them this time around. They kept me very involved with every step. I really enjoyed it.”

“I really think this is the beginning of things turning around for your career. We just gotta keep that positive buzz going, ya know? You’ve been doing really well, and I think this helped people see that. You were really on top of your game Saturday. The fans are loving the dancing stuff too by the way. Pairing you with Kat has worked out well.”

My smile widened as I rubbed the back of my neck, “Yeah, Kat’s been great. I love working with her. I’m glad you talked me into doing the show…it’s been a lot of fun.”

Lenny cleared his throat nervously, “Speaking of Kat…I saw those videos of you two singing together…”

My brows furrowed. I wasn’t sure where this was going.

“OooK? And?” I asked.

“Well, the agency has noticed that those videos are getting a lot of attention…do you think she would be open to doing more stuff like that? For publicity?”

I sighed, frustrated by the turn in conversation. “I’m not gonna use Kat for publicity for my career.”

Lenny chuckled, “Aren’t you kind of doing that already?”

I got out of my car and began pacing the driveway, “The only thing I want her involved in is publicity for the show that we are working on together. I won’t ask her for more than that…or trick her into doing anything more than that. I’m not gonna take advantage of her in that way.”

Lenny sighed, “Fine…OK. I get it. It doesn’t have to be with her though. Maybe you could do some Instagram Lives again and sing a little. The fans would eat that shit up.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, I dunno about that, Len. I would feel awkward.”

Lenny huffed into the phone, “D, you used to do them all the time. What’s the big deal?”

I paused my pacing and ran my hand down my face, “The big deal is that I was usually cracked out of my mind and acting like a fool. I didn’t give two shits about how it looked or what people thought about my psychotic rants or partying. I’m not that guy anymore.”

“That’s exactly WHY you should do it. Show the world the NEW Dieter Bravo. If it’s what the fans want, give it to them.”

I sighed, “So you want me to do Lives and sing? Seriously?”

“Fuck yes. Sing, play your guitar…hell, I’d settle for watching you re-pot a plant…get creative like I know you can be. We need to start getting you out there more. Your fan base is growing like crazy thanks to the ballroom dance shit, so we need to take advantage of that and keep them hooked.”

This was making me anxious. I needed to end the conversation. “I’ll think about it, OK? I dunno how I feel about it.”

Lenny sighed, “Fine, think about it…but just do it. And if Kat happens to be involved in any way, the agency will not complain…just so you know.”

I scoffed, “Fuck off with that. I told you, I’m not using her for that shit.”

Lenny chuckled, “OK… fine, fine. Look, I’ve gotta go to a meeting. I’ll check back in with you in a few days.”

I rolled my eyes again, “Yeah, you go do that. Talk soon. Bye.”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I hung up. I was beyond annoyed with him after that conversation. I shook my head as I walked inside, deciding not to give the topic any more thought.

Kat and I had our late rehearsal that afternoon. She brought in some props for us to use like we planned so that it would be a little more authentic and not just us pretending to remove pieces of clothing and dancing around non-existent furniture throughout the routine, because yes, we were totally going there. This performance was definitely going to push some boundaries, and we were one hundred percent rolling with it because why the fuck not?

Once we were done for the day, Kat came back to my place. We had leftovers for dinner then spent the rest of our time cuddling and talking. Our evening went basically the same as the previous one. We seemed to be settling into a routine of sorts. I loved getting to know her like this, laughing with her, and watching her with Zee. I couldn’t have asked for anyone more perfect for me if I tried.

Thursday was filming day. We of course had to watch ourselves, especially with the sexiness of this week’s dance. I tried to keep things light with jokes and just making a general ass of myself. My nonsense started when Kat left the room for a quick bathroom break. I put on the long flowy wrap skirt with a Velcro closure that she was using to rehearse in. When she returned, she was greeted by me swishing around the room. I briefly paused, giving her a dainty curtsy complete with a raised pinky, which caused her to wheeze in laughter. The rehearsal was nothing but fits of giggles after that, especially when I struggled through some of the more complicated lift combos and when we tripped over each other’s feet during the intertwining leg moves that Kat had us doing. Even the film crew was having a hard time keeping it together. I could only hope it came across as two friends having fun and struggling to be serious with a sexy dance rather than two people who were in a secret relationship and doing far more intimate things in their spare time.

Kat came home with me again that night. I encouraged her to relax on the couch as I made dinner for us. Zee joined her, stretching out for belly rubs while she waited to be fed too. Kat hadn’t said anything, but I could tell she wasn’t feeling that well. I couldn’t help worrying that the long hours of dancing were getting to her. I needed to do better about making sure she was taking care of herself. I didn’t want her to neglect her self-care because she was spending too much time with me. Even if that meant I had to take care of her myself.

After she crawled into bed that night, I took a few minutes to do just that. I started with a foot massage, taking special care to avoid that certain spot that I knew would get her worked up. It wasn’t about that tonight. I just wanted her to relax and find some relief for her aching joints. I eventually moved up to her calf and worked my way up from there before switching to the other leg.

She watched me intently for a time. Eventually settling back into the pillows and humming to herself as she closed her eyes. As my hand slid up to the upper half of her leg and began to massage there, the slight pressing together of her thighs didn’t go unnoticed. I chuckled quietly as my fingertips kneaded a little deeper into the meaty area.

She sighed, “I know you’re not purposely trying to, but you’re torturing me…just a little bit.”

I laughed, moving both hands to her hip to massage there. “I can tell. My apologies. I’ll avoid the inner thigh next time.”

She hummed in satisfaction, “Next time? You’re spoiling me, you know that right? I’m ruined.”

I smiled, crawling up her body to bury my face in her chest and inhale her intoxicating citrus and plum scent that I never seemed to get enough of. “Good. That’s my goal. You deserve it.”

Her hands tangled in my hair as her nails gently scratched my scalp. We sat like that in a comfortable silence. Just feeling each other. The warmth of her skin and the steady thump of her heartbeat under my ear lulled me into a stupor, making me feel calm and peaceful. The gaping hole that I had felt in my heart for most of my life now seemed nonexistent and it was because of her. I no longer felt like I was lost. I was home.

My arms tightened against her sides as I considered that thought, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that had a lump forming in my throat. I took a few deep breaths, pushing the tears away that were threatening to seep out. I wanted to tell her how I was feeling, but I held it back - still afraid that it was too soon.

When I raised my head to meet her gaze, my chest felt like it was going to burst over how fucking perfect she was. I wasn’t sure what my expression held, but she picked up on my emotional state causing her fingers to still their movements. Her brows pinched together. “You OK?” she asked.

I had to clear the lump away in my throat before I spoke. “Yeah…I’m just getting tired. You ready to go to bed?”

Her eyes searched my face for a brief moment before she nodded and withdrew her arms from around my shoulders so I could get up to switch off the light. Afterward, I crawled back into the bed, settling in at her back before pulling her body snugly against my front. She drifted off quickly, her breathing slowing as she relaxed further into me. I had a harder time finding sleep that night as my thoughts ran wild with possibilities for our future. There was no question about it, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and I wanted it to start now. However, I knew that was my impulsive nature talking. I needed to take this slow and continue to follow her lead. If this was going to work, it needed to be on her timeline, not mine.

Friday morning Kat awoke feeling groggy and stiff. I had a feeling she felt worse than she let on, but she insisted she would be alright once she started moving around. I got up to get a hot shower going while she took a few minutes to do some gentle stretches. She joined me afterward, yawning before snaking her arms around my waist and leaning against my chest as she stood under the hot spray.

My fingers went to her hair, working the water through it until it was saturated. My hands then found their way to her face, cupping her cheeks as I took in her expression.

“Are you sure you’re feeling OK? Maybe we should cut our rehearsal time down today?”

She shrugged, “We’ll see how it goes. I’m just having a slow start…I think.”

I sighed, “If you need a break today I think it would be OK. We’ve got it down pretty good so far…”

She put a finger over my lips to silence me, “I’m feeling better already. Relax.”

I rolled my eyes and nodded, dropping the subject and focused my attention on washing her hair. She did seem to be feeling better by the time we were done showering, which helped alleviate some of my concern. However, a few hours into rehearsal, it was clear she was running out of steam. The occasional wince and constant shifting on her feet told me she was uncomfortable and most likely having joint pain.

By the time we were down to our last hour and a half of studio time, I called it. She protested as I sat down on the floor with my arms and legs crossed like a petulant child and refused to do anything else. She finally relented and started packing up as she reluctantly admitted she was feeling like shit. I wanted to take her home with me and take care of her, but she wasn’t having it. She decided instead to go to her house and “sleep it off”. I wasn’t happy about it but agreed. I was saddened by the fact that she wouldn’t allow me to help in any way and also by the fact that she wouldn’t be staying with me that night. I was already getting used to having her in my bed. The mere thought of her not being there was already making me feel anxious.

I ended up breaking our self-imposed rules and pulled her into the small one person bathroom as we were about to leave. I needed to feel her, if only for a brief moment before we parted for the evening. She scolded me, but that didn’t stop her from wrapping her arms around my neck as I leaned in for a fiery kiss. It helped dampen my anxiousness, but it was only temporary.

Once we finally broke apart, she exited the bathroom and scanned the area for any nosey onlookers. Finding none, she gave me the all clear to come out behind her. We said our polite goodbyes after that. Then we were on our way to our respective homes.

The anxious feeling quickly returned when I walked into my house alone. I had to keep myself busy catching up on some much needed plant care in an attempt to drown out the lonely feeling that kept creeping in. Even Zee seemed to be moping around, lacking her usual enthusiasm for dinner and play time.

The minutes seemed to be dragging on painfully slow as I ran out of things to keep me occupied. I ended up spending the rest of the evening in my studio working on one of the several paintings I had started of my new muse. It was nearing midnight when I finally decided to go to bed, even though I was still feeling amped up. I really wanted to text Kat and see how she was feeling, but didn’t want to chance waking her up if she was asleep. It was almost maddening.

My sleep that night was restless. I had tossed and turned so much that Zee got mad and left the bedroom. I felt groggy when the alarm woke me from my light sleep the next morning. I was staring at the ceiling and feeling almost ridiculous over the fact that not having Kat here was affecting me this much when my phone pinged. I couldn’t help smiling when I saw her name pop up on the screen. I grabbed my phone, realizing I had a few texts from random numbers that I didn’t even bother to look at. Hers was the only one I cared about.

Kit Kat: I should have just gone home with you. Your bed is so much more comfortable than mine. 😞

My smile widened as I hit the call button.

Her voice was muffled when she answered, like she had her face buried in a pillow. I chuckled, “Thanks for the tip, honey. Now I know what argument to use next time.”

She huffed, “Shush you. I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

I sighed knowing that was probably the way Alec often made her feel, “You’re never a burden. I’d just put your ass to bed and go downstairs so you could sleep. Problem solved.”

She laughed as I continued, “OR…or…I’d crawl into bed and sleep it off with you. A little extra sleep never hurt anyone. Seriously though, are you feeling better?”

I could hear the blankets rustling as she moved around, “Umm, maybe. Not as achy, but still a little stiff.”

“Do you wanna hold off on rehearsal and rest some more?” I asked.

She scoffed, “Absolutely not. It’s our last rehearsal day. There are a couple of things we need to nail down before tomorrow.”

I rolled my eyes, “Ok, fine. I’m gonna bring you some herbal tea though. No complaining. You’re gonna drink it and like it. It’ll help.”

She sighed dramatically, “Yes, sir. Whatever you say.”

I groaned, “Please don’t talk like that or else I’m gonna get hard.”

She snickered, “Sorry. I’ll behave. I’ll see you at the studio here shortly, yeah?”

“Yep. I’ll bring you some breakfast too. Just worry about gettin’ yourself there.”

I could hear the smile in her voice as she replied with a breathy, “Yes, sir.”

I raked a hand down my face, feeling that familiar rush of blood to my dick, “Damnit.”

“Enjoy your morning shower,” she said with a laugh.

“Yeah yeah…bye. See you soon, sweetheart.”

After a very cold shower, I got ready, fed Zee, made Kat’s tea, then headed out. As promised, I stopped to pick up some breakfast on the way. I found Kat already stretching when I walked in. She looked like she felt a little better at least.

After eating, we got to it, working out the last of the minor kinks that we kept running into with the lifts. By the end of our rehearsal session, we were successfully executing the routine perfectly each time and were feeling pretty confident about it. The only concern we had was that the producers might want us to tone down the sexual nature of it. My thought was to tell them to fuck off because they picked the song. It was their fault.

Once rehearsal was over, we had to make our way over to Television City Studios for spray tan night. There was no getting out of it this week unfortunately. It was obvious that gossip was spreading throughout the staff and cast based on the general vibes toward us. What that gossip was, we had no idea. I assumed it was mostly to do with the Alec confrontation. Everyone was nice of course, but the looks being passed around told us things were being said.

The weird vibes seemed to intensify when Alec and Lana showed up. We hadn’t seen him since the incident, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. His face was definitely banged up more than I thought it would be - with a black eye, busted lip, and bruised jaw. I couldn’t help feeling a little satisfaction from that. He deserved far worse.

I could feel Kat tensing beside me when she caught sight of Alec. I placed my hand on the small of her back for reassurance, which caused her to lean into me and focus her attention elsewhere. Marc and Stefanie joined us, checking in with Kat to see how she was doing. I was only half paying attention, keeping my eye on the asshole, watching as Lana seemed to try and sooth him. It was obvious his usual crowd wasn’t being as friendly with him. I hoped that meant they were finally seeing what kind of person he was. He deserved to lose everything.

Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long. A PA sought us out and explained that they would take care of us first from now on so we could get out of there in an effort to keep Kat away from Alec. Clearly Stacia and Joe had shared some information with the staff, but who knew how much? The rumors were probably getting pretty wild at this point. I could only imagine what was going to eventually hit the tabloids.

After reminding Kat about my comfortable bed, she came home with me after that. We ordered some to-go food from the Greek diner on the way and had that for dinner. I encouraged her to go get some rest after we ate. She protested, but still followed me upstairs and allowed me to put her into one of my oversized t-shirts and braid her hair before pulling back the covers and urging her to lay down. Zee joined her almost immediately and snuggled into her side so that I could tuck them both in. I sat on the edge of the bed, pushing a few loose strands of hair back as she smiled up at me.

“I feel weird coming over here just to sleep,” she finally said.

I rolled my eyes, “It’s fine. I like that you wanna be here, even if you are using me for my orthopedic mattress.”

She snorted out a laugh, “You know that’s not the only reason I’m here. I…I feel safe here…with you.”

My lips set into a tight line. I hated that she ever had to feel unsafe. “You can stay here as long as you want. I don’t mind. I actually…”

I paused, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but decided to say what I was thinking anyway.

“I feel less lonely when you’re here.”

She gave me a misty-eyed smile as she reached for my hand and brought it to her lips. I gave her a soft smile in return, rubbing my thumb over the tops of her fingers.

“Now, you rest. I think I’m gonna go paint for a bit, then I’ll come to bed.”

After leaning down to give her and Zee a quick kiss on the top of the head, I disappeared to my studio. I started a new painting that night. It was of Kat, of course, lying on her side facing away in the creamy colored bedding that contrasted so perfectly with the golden brown skin of her bare back. Her chestnut hair wild and fanning out around her head. I made sure to add the two small freckles on her left shoulder blade that I loved to kiss so much as well as the subtle definition of her toned muscles that I always found to be so fucking sexy. I worked to get the curve of her hip just right as the sheet draped off it.

She really did have the body of a goddess, full and curvy but still firm and perfectly sculpted from a life spent on the dance floor. It was feminine, yet exuded strength. I was almost certain she could crush my head with her thighs if she wanted to, which was sort of a turn on if I was being honest.

My intense concentration was broken by my phone pinging with a text message. It was another random number. I glanced at it, someone wanting to get together to party after seeing me on SNL. I had started getting a lot of these all of a sudden. Since none of the numbers were saved, I knew it couldn’t be anyone good. I had cleared out my contacts list after rehab for a reason. I rolled my eyes, then blocked the number.

Realizing it was nearing 10:30 PM, I decided to head to bed. I made an effort to be quiet as I went through my nightly routine. Kat didn’t seem fazed in the slightest as I crawled into bed behind her to be the big spoon. She sunk back into my embrace as I put my arm around her and Zee, who was still snuggled against her chest. Once her scent invaded my senses, I was out.

I woke up the next morning nose to nose with Kat. Her eyes were on my face as her fingers combed through the mess that I knew my hair had to be. She gave me a toothy smile as she told me ‘Good morning’. I responded by pulling her into a passionate kiss that lasted several minutes, finally breaking away because we really needed to get up. It was show day, so we couldn’t get behind schedule.

We drove to the studio separately to keep up appearances. I took a detour for coffee mostly so we didn’t show up at the same time. We ended up being pretty early, but the crew was ready to get started once I got there. Kat and I talked through the music arrangement with the band Director, then got started on our first run through for camera blocking and lighting. The routine was definitely getting everyone’s attention.

Kat and I caught Stacia and Joe watching from the back of the ballroom. A nervous look passed between us, waiting for the chat to tell us to tone it down some, but that talk never came. The rest of the cast began filtering into the ballroom just as we were finishing up our third and final run through. We finished up to a few whoops and whistles from some of them. Most of the ruckus seemed to be coming from Marc and Stefanie. Marc gave me a pat on the back as we walked off the dance floor as he and Stefanie praised us. I was slowly forming a new appreciation for them as we exited to go to our costume fitting.

After putting on my black pants, I didn’t bother to button up the shirt before walking out to the fitting area where Kat and Amy were discussing the minor additions to her costume that would be removed throughout the performance. She turned to me, holding out two skirt options that would fit over her original black lace costume, asking which one I thought would be best. We ended up going through those moves of the dance to test them out. We settled on a lightweight silky one.

After that, I was standing in front of the three panel mirror as Kat fussed with my open shirt and explained what we needed. Amy decided to use some sticky Velcro strips to close it up rather than the buttons so that Kat could easily yank it open at the right moment. Once Amy got everything sorted and fastened, Kat shocked me a little by coming up behind me, grasping the shirt in her hands, and ripping it open without warning. She rested her chin on my shoulder as she laughed out, “I think that’ll get the job done.”

I snorted out a laugh, as our eyes locked in the mirror. She had a mischievous grin on her face as she pulled the shirt open further and allowed her eyes to travel downward. She raised an eyebrow as she focused on my middle section.

I shrugged, “I think the spray tan lady gave me better abs. They were there this morning.”

It was Kat’s turn to snort out a laugh as she ran her hands down my stomach, “No, they were there already…she just did a little contouring.”

I rolled my eyes, “Whatever. I mean, I’ve lost weight but I dunno about that.”

She leaned in closer to my ear, “I’d still hit it with or without them.”

My breath hitched as I glanced over at Amy who seemed to be in deep conversation with an assistant, then I looked back to Kat who was still giving me that mischievous smile. She was playing with fire today.

I tilted my head to whisper in her direction, “Better watch yourself Kitten, or else I’ll do just that.”

She was still standing pressed to my back when I felt a hand grab my ass. She gave me a cheeky grin before letting go and turning toward Amy and her assistant to ask for a black tie and suit jacket to go with my costume. After changing out of our costumes, Amy rushed them back for the minor alterations needed. Then we were off to hair and makeup.

We managed to nab our favorite hair and makeup team, which we were happy about. Those ladies were always a good time, making the process a lot more bearable. Kat opted to wear her hair down in soft waves again this week, rubbing it in as the hair gel was slathered onto my head to slick my hair back in that way they loved doing to all the guys.

As I watched Kat interact with everyone, I could see a notable change in her. She seemed more carefree and happier than she had been during those first few weeks, openly joking around and having fun with those around her. I briefly wondered if she ever had this in prior seasons - the freedom to be herself. If she hadn’t, it made me sad knowing that she never fully got it until the end. She deserved so much better than she got.

I was drawn from my thoughts by Kat suggesting to Samantha that I should wear some mascara and a smidge of eyeliner. I furrowed my brows at her and started laughing.

“You’re not serious?” I asked.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, fighting a smile as she nodded. Holly glanced up from Kat’s hair and smiled, “I agree. That’d be hot.”

Kat waggled her eyebrows at me, “Yeah, see. It’s hot…”

Samantha gave me a questioning look and I shrugged, “If that’s what my girl wants, that’s what she gets.”

I realized too late what I had actually said, causing me to grimace slightly. Kat’s eyes widened before she laughed it off. Samantha and Holly seemed unfazed by it, laughing along and getting back to work.

We got held up with our costumes for a bit as they perfected the last minute changes we requested. By the time they got that figured out, we were the last couple to do final dress rehearsals. Luckily a lot of the cast had cleared out by then since they were finished, so we didn’t have to worry about too big of an audience. We ended up having to go through the routine a couple more times than we normally did to work out the kinks with the costumes since they were a little different from what we had been using in rehearsal. Once that was figured out, we nailed it.

We didn’t have long before the show started after that. Kat and I were the fourth couple to perform, so we were already in the staging area waiting. She had to do a quick change after the opening professionals performance then immediately joined me again so that we could start our pre-performance ritual. I grabbed Kat’s phone to pick a song and began laughing before I even hit play.

🎶Listen to Dieter's Song Choice Here🎶

Kat narrowed her eyes at me as the hip-hop beat filled her wired earbud. I was already moving to the music by the time she realized what the song was. Her face flushed red and she fought to hold in laughter as she shook her head at me.

I started mouthing along with the words as I grabbed her hands to get her to move with me, “I take you to the candy shop, I let you lick the lollipop.”

She shushed me through her giggles, going along and moving with me to the beat. It wasn’t exactly a hype song, but it allowed us to have some fun and shake off the nerves before we got the signal to head to the dance floor.

🎶Listen to Performance Song Here🎶

We took our places, me standing with a suit jacket casually thrown over my shoulder with Kat in front of me as a light fog surrounded us. After a flourish of her arms as the song started, her hands slid down the sides of my face to my chest.

You put a spell on me / I’m losing my mind

She turned, walking away suggestively and beckoning me with a finger. I threw the jacket down and followed behind her. Then our back and forth power struggle began as I caught up to her, capturing her arm for a spin and pulling her backside to my front.

You better stop these things / It’s a matter of time before I hunt you down, grab your chin, kiss your lips. / You bring me back, I lay you down, and grab your hips, and we lose all control.

We swayed in unison as she turned her face toward mine, my hand capturing her chin and pressing the side of my mouth against hers. My hands found their way to her hips as we did a deep circular rotation with them in unison before spinning her to face me for the next verse.

And then before you know, I put a spell on you, and now you’re mine. / I’ve got a hold on you, at least for tonight.

We swayed, staring into each other's eyes as my hands caressed her face. We transitioned into an intertwining leg combo before she spun away from me, her hand cupping my cheek before sliding down and pulling the loose tie from around my neck to take with her.

You know I can’t help myself as you ask tenderly / If I’d dim the lights as your hand brushes me / Then the floor swallows your clothes, and your silhouette puts on a show

With a flourish of my hands and a snap, the lights dimmed. A spotlight dropped down on Kat as she discarded the tie and began a slow and seductive roll of her body. Pulling the newly added silky skirt loose as she spun and dropping it to the floor before moving toward me and kicking her leg up for the lift onto my shoulder.

You give me fever, drive me insane / You got me going in circles with potions and bottles and I can’t escape / I can’t escape / I’m lost in your ways

We transitioned into a salida, our foot work completely in sync before Kat moved her legs in a swivel, sliding her arms to my neck as mine tightened under her arms and around her back. Her feet spread wide so that they were inches off the floor as I leaned forward and spun us in a circle.

You put a spell on me / I’m losing my mind / You better stop these games / It’s a matter of time before I hunt you down, grab your chin, kiss your lips. / You bring me back, I lay you down, and grab your hips, and we lose all control.

As I gently placed her back on the floor, she grabbed my waist, turning me away from her so that she could rip my shirt open similar to the way she had in the dressing room earlier. After pulling the shirt off and discarding it on the floor, things only got more sensual as we moved across the ballroom as one. Hands sliding across each other's bare skin as our foreheads pressed together. Lips brushing as she twisted and swiveled around me. I spun her, her back to my front again for the deep circular rotation of our hips before moving into the tango walk.

I put a spell on you, and now you’re mine. / I’ve got a hold on you, at least for tonight…At least for tonight.

For the final part, we transitioned into another lift as I spun her around and gently lowered her to her knees on top of the fake bed we had requested as a prop. After dipping her backwards at the waist and doing half a rotation, she popped back up into our finishing pose with her hands on my face and our lips near touching as the lights quickly dimmed to black causing a deafening round of applause.

Kat managed to sneak an actual kiss in before the lights came back on. There was something incredibly thrilling about it, knowing that all eyes were on us but they couldn’t see anything in that brief moment. It had me wanting her so badly. I was ready to leave without getting our scores.

It was time to chat with the judges after that. They mainly focused on how sexy the performance was, going so far as to make jokes about fines for not meeting the show rating standards. They mentioned how our chemistry seemed to evolve more and more each week and was now exploding off the charts. It left me wondering how much longer we could keep this thing between us under wraps if we couldn’t hide it on the dance floor.

I had a hard time concentrating on anything except Kat during our interview. My arm was around her shoulders while she had placed one around my waist. I hadn’t bothered to put my shirt back on, so I could feel every inch of her pressing against me with only the thin fabric of the lace costume separating us. Her fingers held my waist firmly as she pulled me tightly against her side.

The air around us almost felt like it was vibrating as we fumbled our way through the hosts' questions, trying to explain how we kept our cool with such a provocative dance. I felt like they were trying to trip us up into saying something incriminating in regard to our relationship, but we played it cool, managing to redirect the focus to two friends having fun while working together.

After standing around waiting for a commercial break to end, they went straight into scoring. We received four tens. Another perfect score. We were elated obviously. Kat didn’t hesitate to jump into my arms for a hug over the news. We were buzzing with excitement after that, finding it hard to focus on the remaining performances. Especially when we would brush against each other, accidentally or not. I tried to avoid shooting heated glances her way, but it was hard. Especially when she seemed to be reciprocating them.

We both sighed in relief when the show was finally over, making a beeline toward the dressing rooms. We had zero urge to hang around and socialize once the show ended. Honestly, after our steamy performance, the only thing I could think about was getting her alone just so I could kiss her. I was quickly losing the strength to restrain myself from scooping her up in my arms in front of everyone. We reached my room first, after glancing up and down the hallway for prying eyes and finding none, I turned toward her with a mischievous smile and pulled her through the doorway.

After closing the door behind us, I backed her to the middle of the room, pulling her hips against mine as I captured her lips in a searing kiss. Her hands snaked around my neck as she deepened it, swallowing the groan that rumbled from my chest. I pulled back in an effort to not get carried away, sighing as I pushed her hair away from her face. “Lemme get changed so we can get outta here.”

She huffed, suggestively running her fingertips down the bare skin of my chest. “Fine…OK,” she said in mock annoyance. She moved to lean against the vanity countertop, crossing her arms as she watched me undress down to my boxer briefs.

I couldn’t help standing up a little straighter and puffing out my chest as I asked, “You see something you like, honey?”

She smiled as she looked at me through her lashes, “Maybe…”

I playfully rolled my eyes and chuckled, grabbing my robe off a wall hook and putting it on before shoving my costume into its garment bag. I quickly opened the door to put it out for pickup. As I closed the door behind me, I surveyed the room, thinking through what I needed to pack up to take with me. I walked toward the vanity, reaching around Kat to grab my phone charger. She tilted her head closer, grazing her nose along my neck before sucking on my earlobe as her fingers tugged the robe open. My hand paused midair as I leaned into her mouth with a smile, “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

Her palms moved to my chest, pushing me backwards until the back of my knees bumped the chair, “Why don’t you sit for a spell, Bravo.”

I was curious where this was going, so I didn’t argue. The robe fell open as I sunk down into the chair, slouching with my legs spread wide - giving her an eye full of little Bravo who was now at full attention and dying to come out to play. My eyes stayed on hers as they drifted down to enjoy the view. She ambled forward, swaying her hips seductively until she came to stop between my thighs. She reached out, cupping my cheek with a smirk on her lips as she lifted one leg, then the other to straddle my hips. Only the thin fabric of our undergarments separated my hard length from the place that it wanted to disappear into. My hands found her hips, gripping and rocking them against me. Her eyes fluttered closed at the contact as she leaned forward against my chest, changing the angle to seek more friction. My face nuzzled against hers as my lips found her ear, “I want you so bad right now…need to stop teasing me.”

Her breath hitched as I bucked against her to emphasize my point. She turned her head, mouth hovering above mine, “You can have me…anytime you want. You don’t even need to ask…”

I smiled against her lips, “Is that right?”

She nodded, leaning in for a sensual kiss as she continued to slowly roll her hips against mine.

I groaned as my hands slid up her bare thighs to dip under the hem of her dress and grab the globes of her ass. “Tell me what you need, Kitten,” I mumbled between kisses.

She pulled back, running her hands down my chest as she stared into the depths of my soul with a playful smile. “I want you to show me what a proper fucking from Dieter Bravo is like.”

My brows knitted together as a wide grin spread across my face, “What? Here? Now?”

Her brows arched, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she nodded.

I sighed, “Oh Kitten, I don’t think you can be quiet enough for that. You’ll get us caught.”

She straightened her shoulders as her eyes narrowed on me, “You wanna try me?”

I huffed out a laugh, giving a jerky nod, “Yes, I fucking do.”

My lips crashed against hers, kissing her with more force than I ever had. If she wanted that carnal, animalistic side of me, who was I to deny her? Fucking was something I knew all too well, but I could already tell that even this would feel differently with her, and I craved it. I wanted her in any way she would let me have her.

A knock on the door caused us to breathlessly break away from each other.

“Dieter, are you still here?” a voice called from the hallway.

Kat and I stared at each other, confused by the sudden interruption.

“Yeah…I’m here…” I called back cautiously.

“Have you seen Kat? She hasn’t turned in her costume yet. I’d like to get out of here soon.”

We both held in giggles as I yelled back, “Haven’t seen her.”

Kat smiled mischievously and wiggled against my extremely hard dick. I gave her a look of warning as we heard muted muttering and retreating footsteps outside the door. Once it appeared that the coast was clear, my lips found hers again as she continued to grind against me. My body felt like it was on fire, her touch further stoking the flame as her hand moved downward between us. Just as her fingertips dipped under the waistband of my boxer briefs, another knock sounded on the door, “Dieter, can you like…text her or something? No one’s seen her.”

I let out a frustrated growl as I leaned my forehead against Kat’s, “Oh for fucks sake…”

She fought a smile as she held in her laugh.

“Just… give me a minute!” I finally called back a bit more harshly than I meant to.

Without a second thought, I grabbed Kat’s thighs and stood, sitting her on the edge of the vanity before squatting down to take off her dance shoes. She watched me work with a small smile on her lips, lifting first her right foot, then the left for me to unbuckle the straps and place kisses along her calf as I pulled each shoe off. My hands ghosted up her legs toward her hips, gripping them to pull her off the vanity. I turned her to face the mirror, then unfastened the hooks to the straps on the back of her dress. Our gazes locked on each other in the mirror as I began to slide the dress down her body, revealing her to me. Once I pushed it past her hips, my head tipped forward to place gentle kisses along her neck, whispering a quiet “wait here” against her ear before I tied my robe shut and bent down to collect her costume.

I had to adjust myself as I moved across the room, hoping the loose fabric of the robe might conceal my raging hard on as I carefully opened the door just far enough to pass off the costume pieces in question. I quickly shoved them through the opening, “Here ya go.”

The PA momentarily stared at me with confusion before finally reaching to take the costume. I gave her a tight smile, “Have a good evening.”

She still looked confused as she replied, “Uhh, thanks?”

Without another word, I shut the door and locked it. Turning to find Kat still standing facing the mirror like I left her.

She smirked, “You realize that’s probably gonna cause some gossip…”

I quickly closed the distance between us, my hands gliding around to the front of her body to explore her curves, “Then let them fucking gossip. I have urgent matters to attend to…”

My left hand cupped her breast and squeezed it gently, eliciting a soft sigh from her as she leaned back against my chest. Her right hand reached behind her, tugging at the tie to the robe and pulling it open again. Her eyes settled on mine in the mirror as she cradled my bulge and stroked it gently.

I tisked at her as I grabbed her hand away, “Oh no no, Kitten. If you want a proper fuck, that means I’m in charge right now.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, allowing her hand to fall limply at her side as my right hand joined the left, kneading her breasts and pulling her body flush with mine. My mouth found her neck, nipping little love bites up the length of it as my right hand slid into the waistband of her underwear to gently tease her, spreading her slick over the swollen bud that was already throbbing in anticipation.

Within seconds she melted against me, whimpering as my fingers found their rhythm. Once her body began to tense and tremble, I withdrew my hand and was met with a soft whine.

“Don’t worry, Kitten. I’m not done yet…just warming you up.”

My fingers moved to her hips, hooking in the elastic of her underwear. “Can I take these off?” I asked against the curve of her neck, causing goosebumps to form on her skin.

She nodded, letting out a breathy “please” as she arched into me. I placed open mouthed kisses down her spine as I slid them off. After standing upright, I placed a knee between her thighs to spread her legs as my right hand found its way back to her center. My fingers gently rubbed tight circles around her clit while my left hand moved back to her breast. My eyes connected with hers in the mirror again as my teeth grazed her earlobe. She was already coming undone, panting and squirming against me, and we hadn’t even gotten to the fun part yet.

“You tell me to stop if I’m being too rough,” I said against her ear.

Her breath hitched as she nodded. I withdrew my fingers, giving her clit a quick smack causing her to moan quietly, “Use your words, Kitten. I need you to agree. Don’t be afraid to tell me to stop. You understand?”

She nodded again, “Y-Yes, I understand.”

I gave her a cheeky smile, “Good girl.”

Another quick smack to her center had her falling forward with a deep groan, resting her palms on the vanity as she rubbed her ass against me. My fingers got back to work, sinking into her heat and curling against just the right spot as I roughly shook my palm against her bundle of nerves.

I hadn’t been this aggressive with her in the past, so I focused on what her body was telling me, afraid she wouldn’t make me stop if it was too much. She seemed to be into it as she sought out more friction against my palm. Her brows pinched together as her jaw went lax. Her head dropped down between her shoulders as she fought to hold in the moans. My left hand slid up to her neck, gripping just under her chin to pull her back against my chest as I kept up the relentless pace with my fingers.

“I need to see your face, keep your eyes on me please.”

She panted out a breathy, “Yes, sir” and I nearly lost myself. She must have felt my dick twitch against her, because she smiled widely, reaching one hand behind her to grab at my ass to pull my hips tighter against hers.

I chuckled next to her ear as I rolled her clit between my fingertips, “Such a needy girl…come for me then I’ll fuck you like you want me to.”

She gasped at the new sensation, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip to hold in the sounds that were trying to escape. Her eyes shifted between mine and my hands in the mirror, the sight seeming to spur her on as she writhed against me. I could tell she was close as I dipped my fingers back into her heat while roughly shaking my palm against her clit again. Her free hand grabbed my forearm, squeezing it tightly as she began to tremble and tense in my arms before going limp. I gave her a moment, allowing her to come down from her high as my hands explored her body.

I suddenly felt her arch against me as a lazy smile spread across her face. “Will you fuck me now? Please?” she asked in a sultry voice.

Little Bravo was damn near busting through my boxer briefs at that. I was still a little apprehensive, afraid that I would hurt her. I knew the dancing was beginning to wear her body down, and I didn’t want to add to it, but I trusted that she would tell me if it was too much.

I gave her a cocky smile as my right hand ghosted up her spine to grab the base of her neck to manipulate her into position, “Lean forward.”

She complied, placing her palms on the vanity as she tilted her hips back and upward to give me better access. We stared at each other in the mirror as my fingertips lightly stroked down her back, then grabbed her hips, gripping them tightly as I rubbed my hardness against her. Before she could register what I was doing, I drew my hand back and slapped her ass. She flinched slightly. I soothed the area with my palm as I studied her, “Is that too much?”

She smiled and shook her head, “No…just wasn’t expecting it.” Her voice had a raspy and needy tone to it.

I gave it another smack, causing her to exhale out a quiet groan as she pushed back against me. I paused, savoring the sight of her before me, naked and nearly bent over the countertop in my dressing room. It was a sight I had never expected to see. This wasn’t at all an unusual situation for me before I got sober. I’d had more than my fair share of women and men bent over countertops in dressing rooms, but with her, it just felt different. I felt the same rush of excitement and arousal, but there was something else there with it. A tightness in my chest and tingling along my skin as my gaze met hers.

My connection with her was more than physical and gave me a high unlike any drug I’d ever had. I could only assume this is what it felt like to be in love with someone. I suddenly understood why some men would risk life and limb for their significant other. If this is how they were made to feel, then I couldn’t blame them. I’d do anything for her.

I reached down with my right hand, releasing myself from my boxer briefs as my other hand gently caressed her back. She watched me stroking myself in the mirror, her breathing speeding up from the sight as I tipped my head forward, allowing spit to drip down to my hand to spread over the hard length.

I moved closer to her back side, allowing my cock to rub against her drenched center as I leaned my chest against her and reached around to knead her breast with my free hand, “I think you like watching me touch myself, don’t you honey?”

She sucked in a sharp breath at the contact as she pressed against me for more friction, “I like how you look at me when you do it. I can tell you’re thinking about all the different ways you want me.”

I chuckled and mumbled, “You’re not wrong” against her shoulder as I notched the head at her entrance and began to slowly sink in. I gave her a moment to adjust. She hummed out a sigh as she nuzzled her cheek against mine. My hands moved back to her hips and gripped them firmly, “You sure this is what you want, Kitten? It won’t be gentle.”

I felt her clench around me, my words seeming to excite her.

“I’m sure. Don’t hold back, please.”

She was damn near begging. It almost sent me over the edge. I had to take the first few thrusts slowly until I gained my focus back. On the fourth, my fingers dug into the meaty flesh of her hips to hold her in place as I slammed into her. She lurched forward slightly, crying out in surprise at the intensity. I paused, assessing her for a moment. A lazy smile spread across her face as she pushed back against me to keep going.

I set a steady pace causing Kat to whimper loudly with each vigorous thrust. The sounds of our heavy pants and flesh smacking together filled the room as her right hand flew up to her mouth in an attempt to muffle some of the sound, eventually digging her teeth into her palm as she fought to contain herself. As she began to push backward against me to meet my thrusts, I could tell she was losing her composure. My right hand glided up her back, twisting in the hair at the nape of her neck as the other snaked around her waist to pull her flush against me. My fingers tightened in her locks, turning her face to meet mine. She kissed me in a libidinous way. I could feel it throughout my entire body, causing it to hum with electricity. I completely lost myself and my awareness as my craving for more of her intensified.

I suddenly pulled out of her, causing whines of protest as I spun her around to face me and lifted her up onto the edge of the vanity. I wasted no time sinking back into her wet heat, pulling her closer and tilting her hips downward to get the friction where she needed it most. It was almost frantic between us now as our mouths crashed together, swallowing the grunts and moans that escaped with each forceful thrust that had her bouncing against me. Her hands found their way to the inside of my robe, sliding up my back before her nails dug in deep just as she tensed around me. She buried her face into the crook of my neck as she came with a deep moan that she tried hard to contain.

She finally raised her head to look at me with watery eyes. Her face was flushed and sweaty as she leaned her forehead against mine with a satisfied smile as I continued to drive into her with the same vigor. I could feel my release building as she wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me in closer. I wasted no time burying my face into her chest, groaning loudly and whimpering as I came inside of her.

She held me for a few minutes, scratching at the nape of my neck and down my back as my hands wandered up and down the sides of her body. We were both dripping with sweat as we waited for our breathing and heart rates to return to normal levels. This that came after is what made everything different with her. The intimate moments spent touching, feeling, and sharing our emotional connection was my favorite part. I wanted it to last forever.

I eventually pulled away, looking up at her with soft eyes as I brushed her hair back. Part of me suddenly felt guilty for manhandling her the way that I just had.

“I want you to come home with me tonight so I can take care of you. That was rough, I wanna make sure you don’t start hurting from it.”

She gave me a small smile, “It wasn't too much. I'm more than OK. Really.”

I sighed, “Then…just… humor me. Please?”

Her legs tightened around my waist as her smile widened. “And how do you plan to take care of me?” she asked with an amused tone.

I pursed my lips in thought, “Hmmm, well, I’ll make you a fucking fantastic dinner while you relax on the couch and keep Zee occupied.”

She hugged me a little tighter, “Hmmm, I could get behind that.”

My lips found her throat, placing gentle kisses between my words, “Then I’ll run you a hot bath…maybe join you…massage your hips….legs…and feet…make you come again…then have a nice cuddle as we fall asleep.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Speaking of foot massages and coming…”

Busted. I glanced up at her with a sheepish smile, “What of it?”

She caressed my jaw with a smirk, “Did you know what you were doing to me in New York, with the foot rub?”

I snickered, hiding my face in the curve of her neck, “I’m aware that some people can have an orgasm from a foot massage. I had a thing with a massage therapist once and he taught me how to do it. It wasn’t intentional…initially…but then you didn’t stop me, so I just went with it…”

I felt a low chuckle rumbling in her chest, “You little shit.”

I smiled against her skin, “Scold me all you want honey, but you looked like you were about to jump me. I knew it was only a matter of time.”

She laughed against the top of my head, “The underwear selfie took it over the top. I took a screenshot of that, just so you know…”

I couldn’t help the howl of laughter that ripped through me, “I had a feeling you enjoyed that. I took it for you, ya know…and you did not disappoint.”

She hummed out a quiet laugh, “Yeah, that’s the reason the vibrator ended up under my pillow.”

The memory of using said vibrator on her danced through my mind, causing my dick to twitch inside of her. She pulled back to look at me with a smile, “I felt that.”

I shifted and pulled out of her with a groan, “Yeah, I need to get you home before he wakes up again.”

She chuckled as I lowered her to the floor. I took off my robe and wrapped it around her shoulders with a smirk, “You might need that. Can’t have you walking down the hallway naked.”

She shook her head with a smile as she tied it shut, watching me throw on jeans and a t-shirt. I quickly packed up the few items I needed, then motioned for her to lead the way to her dressing room.

There were still people milling around in the hallway. Most seemed oblivious to the activities that had just taken place on the other side of the door, except for Anika, who was standing across the hall chatting with one of the other professional dancers. They were both watching us with odd expressions as we exited my dressing room. I couldn’t help wondering if they heard something.

Kat shocked me a little, noticing their attention, she responded with a wide smile, telling them to have a good evening as she literally strutted down to her dressing room. I followed her with a cheesy grin, never taking my eyes off her. It had to be obvious something just went down, but I sort of didn’t care.

Kat was quick to get changed. She moved around the room to gather up her things, giving me a shy smile every time our gazes met. The electricity was still humming between us at higher levels than normal, and it was driving me insane. I needed her again, but in a different way - softer, slower, and more sensual. I wanted to worship every inch of her body, then wrap her up in my arms and never let go.

Once she was packed up, we made our way out to our vehicles. She followed me home where I did everything for her that I promised I would…and more.

Next: Week 7

Be sure to check out the fun Plant Dad Dieter extra at the end of the A/N.

A/N: Whew! Ok. That one was a beast. I know...I have a problem.

Anyway...so did the Alec thing go down like you thought it would? Are we super pissed at Kat for the way she is handling it? Or do we support her plan of rubbing it all in Alec's face? Trust me when I say he's got more coming to him.

We got a lot of domestic Dieter and Kat (and Zee 🐈‍⬛) this chapter. How do we think each of them is handling things so far? Our poor guy is trying really hard and being super sweet. I want to cuddle him.

We got some new tidbits of information on Dieter during his therapy session. We will get the full story next chapter. Any theories?

Y'all ready for some Instagram Lives? Neither is Dieter. Doesn't mean he won't suddenly be inspired to give it a try a couple of chapters from now though. You'll probably need a tissue for that. 😬

How do we feel about his agent wanting to use Kat for publicity? Did Dieter make the right call on that?

And lastly...sexy time in the dressing room. These two are something else. How long until they are open about their relationship do you think? Can we also take a minute to appreciate Dieter taking charge and showing Kat a little something new? 😂

👉Because I'm a total whore for a good Argentine Tango, I bring you two super sexy videos. The first one in particular heavily influenced the vibes for Dieter and Kat's performance for this chapter.

Video 1 🎥

Video 2 🎥

👉In case you missed the post, I forgot to include the "Plant Daddy Era" t-shirt for SNL in the last chapter. I made sure to give it a mention in this one and also bring you a fun edit. Please enjoy. #PlantsBeforePants😅

CP Taglist: @titlee78 @legendary-pink-dot @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin

@cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza

@girlofchaos @trulybetty @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer

@darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions

@myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime @copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter

@burntheedges @stevie75 @bunniboo0015 @quicax3 @jackie923

@sherala007 @pastelnap @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @jessthebaker @rebel-held

@gwendibleywrites @senorabond @annalovesflorida @sandaltoesocks @katw474

@txlady37 @inkmonster21 @sunnytuliptime @jeewrites @fifitheragertot

@pasc4lfuzz @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @lizzie-cakes @insomniacdreammerbb

@peepawispunk @pedrostories @dieterbravobrainrotclub

#dieter bravo #pedro pascal fanfiction #slow burn

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tintinn16 · 1 month ago

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Ezra + Text Posts

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tintinn16 · 1 month ago

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#Pedro is really the cutest big brother

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tintinn16 · 1 month ago

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Pedro Pascal with Paul Mescal on LADbible TV

Do you even know me?

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tintinn16 · 2 months ago

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Will there be copies available for the rest of the world later?

Signed copies of The Funny Girl (US only) are now available on my webiste

www.catepagewrites.com

#can’t wait!

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tintinn16 · 2 months ago

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Tonight you belong to me, chapter 5

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. Time flies, in room number 2. How much longer do you have, just for the two of you?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange bedroom besties 🧡 It's been a hot minute, I sincerely apologise. Thank you to everyone who stuck around, I hope it was worth it, and thank you to everyone who just passed by 🧡 @frannyzooey my love, thank you for your help on the Americanisms, invaluable as always 🧡

Word count: 13.8k

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 5: Time in a bottle

It’s late when you pull into the parking lot. Dusk cloaks the motel in its fuzzy veil, the surroundings fading in diffuse shadows. The single-story building stands out in the twilight, akin to an old ship. Wooden poles for masts, hanging lamps swaying gently in the briny breeze, their lights blurry in the muggy air. Tacky and warm, it wafts in through your car’s open windows, dampening the exposed skin of your forearms and the back of your neck.

On the passenger seat, your iPhone’s screen glows in the semi-darkness with an incoming call.

Adrian.

“What now?” you sigh, through clenched teeth.

Your eyes dart up to Frankie’s truck parked in front of you. The word FORD stretched in chrome letters on the tailgate, shining bright in your headlights.

The familiar pull awakens between your constricted lungs. A pounding, greedy little tug compelling you to get out of your car and cover the distance to the room as quickly as your step will carry you. But you want to calm your nerves first. Slow down your heart rate, deepen your breathing.

That discussion you had with your father, earlier this afternoon, still clings to your frame. The humiliation conveyed by his carefully chosen words like tar, black and viscous. You can almost smell its foul stench. And you don’t want to bring any of it inside.

It’s only the third time Frankie gets here before you, if you count that very first Friday back in September. And the second, since you came back from Colorado earlier this month. The pressure in your rib cage eases at the memory of that sweet evening.

All day long, you had rushed through your counting routine. Through the long, icy corridors of your glass prison. Rushed on the 589 northbound. Rushed to strangle the uncertainty of his presence there.

It was a few minutes past 7pm when you parked next to his truck, his early presence cranking up your anxiousness. You got out of your car with an anguished scowl, and you all but ran toward the porch, toward the brass number 2, shoes scuffing the gravel.

The door swung open the very second you stepped under the overhang. A flash of dimple, and his arms wrapped around your waist. He scooped you up from the floor, swift and easy, carrying you inside. Hungry kisses, teeth scraping at your jaw, down the line of your neck. A throaty husk of Happy New Year, Lee Abbott, as he tugged your clothes off your body that thrummed with his scent and his voice and his arms and his taste.

With the density of him.

He lifted you again, your short, giggly yelp bouncing across the room as he hauled you over his shoulder with an easy force. His steps long and balanced, as if your weight was inconsequential to his strength.

In the dim bathroom, he put you down directly into the tub. There, he unbuckled his belt and slid down his jeans, looking at you with a mischievous grin you’d never seen before and that fitted his gorgeous face a little too well.

“Told you I’d fuck you in this shower.”

Thirty seconds later, you were standing together under an aggressive stream of scalding water, his broad back shielding you from the high pressure, steam blurring the tiles and the mirror. You pressed your face into his neck, hands splayed over his chest, feeling it heave with his low, rumbling chuckle.

“ That’s the best I could do. This place is trash,” he scoffed, lips grazing your ear.

“ It’s perfect,” you laughed.

Another notification lights up your screen, yanking you back into the stifling cab of the sedan, to the nagging cramp poking your rib cage, to your hindered breathing.

It glowers at you, bold black letters over a steel gray rectangle.

MESSAGES

Adrian

Your eyes flicker back to the red truck, your face crunching into a grimace.

“Shit,” you grit, grabbing the phone and quickly pressing the home button before you can change your mind.

The lock screen fades as the message app pops open. You squint against the brightness of the glowing white screen.

I made it, babe. I fucking made it. You’re talking to the new senior partner of Balmer & Steigt. Fuck yeah. I finally get what I fucking deserve.

The gray ellipses start blinking underneath the bubble. You frown, bracing yourself.

I couldn’t have made it without you. This is your victory as much as mine.

You scoff, but the dread-inducing ellipses keep bouncing happily. Fantastic. There’s more coming.

I got you something. Something fancy for my fancy girl.

“Oh, hell no.”

Leaning down, you pick up the roomy I ❤ NY tote bag Ava got you as a Christmas present and dump your phone into it, before stuffing the bag under your seat.

If only you could take a full breath. If only your chest would expend. It’s not that bad, really. A few months back, you would have been physically unable to keep going with your day after that conversation with your father. Let alone drive. You’d have suffocated, chocked up on your panic, until you’d been left with no choice other than to gulp down a pill, or two, or three, topped off with a swig of gin. The bitter taste of surrendering.

Is that what it means, to give oneself some grace? You’re doing good, you’re doing better, you’re doing your best.

Closing your eyes, you exhale through pursed lips and ease down your shoulders.

He had you called into his office by his secretary, as you were about to leave, bag in hand, counting steps.

But you were expecting it. In all honesty, you’re surprised it’s taken him this long. Four weeks since you came back from Beaver Creek. Four weeks of defying his strict, outdated, misogynistic dress-code.

The very first morning, you stepped out of the mirror-lined elevator on the 15th floor wearing high-waisted, wide-legged slacks and a loose button-up, the sleeves folded high on your forearms. And flat derbies.

Nervousness, sitting heavy and queasy in the pit of your stomach, beating loud against your eardrums. Prickling under your armpits, raising the hair on your nape.

Kaytee’s eyes widened as she caught sight of you walking by her office, before she remembered to police her expression. The shock on her face turned into something else, something worse. Lurking in the lift-up corner of her lips, in the smugness coloring her cheeks. Something sardonic. Condescension.

“ You can’t spend your life trying to be someone else. ” Ava’s words through the receiver the previous night were a dizzying swirl inside your head, as you walked down the glass corridors, coworkers and subordinates watching you with a similar shocked expression, that blurred their features into one subdued, frightened face.

But who the fuck am I, Ava? you wanted to ask, the only sound on the line that of your short breathing. How did you know who you were? Always. From the very beginning of your life. How did you know how to be so unapologetic about it?

Had it been your gift to her? Does self-confidence require love? Or guidance? Is it innate?

All you know, at this point in your life, is that wearing clothes that you chose for yourself seems like a sound first measure. One that you can actually undertake.

And with that in mind, you stepped into your father’s office, your heart pulsating in your throat, to take a seat across from him, his clear desk standing like a wide canyon between you.

Now, your steps are nearly silent on the shifting gravel, as you walk across the parking lot, fingers brushing along the cool metal of the truck as you pass it by. That pull toward Frankie propelling you forward, inescapable, irresistible despite the nasty sensation oozing down along your legs like thick-flowing tar, weighing your gait.

On the porch, you pause. On Friday evenings, this is when you shed your old skin. Healing wounds, scar tissues. When you set your eyes on the canopy as it swallows the sun, pink-orange dusk fading to dark. Grainy photographs, forgotten vacations. This is when your spine straightens, when you take in the horizon and let it deepen your breathing. When you ready yourself for the life you’ve chosen, between the brown carpet and the yellow curtains and his arms.

But it’s already night. The darkness has erased the horizon and your old skin won’t shed.

The door opens, a draft ruffling your hair.

The first thing you see is the crease between his brow. The tick of his whiskered jaw, and then, his dark brown eyes, appraising the tension that winds up your body, appraising your silence. His grunt, like an echo, distant.

“You sat in that car forever. I was about to come out and get you.”

The concern in his voice rattles something deep inside your belly. You’re not bringing any of it inside that room of yours, you think, as he pushes away from the door to let you in, as you cross the threshold, but it’s stuck to you. Your father’s voice. The tremendous power it still holds over you. His disappointment. Your failures, plural. All the wrong choices.

His hat is set on the desk. His suede jacket is draped over the back of the angular wooden chair. Your gaze lingers on it, you can almost feel the comforting softness of the fabric under the pads of your fingers.

He stands a few feet away from you, giving you space. Dark mahogany searching your features, your posture. His hands propped on his hips, like that other night in the parking lot, after he’d seen the fresh scar in your hairline.

You face away from him. The smell of the room is familiar, in a comforting way. Musty. Dust and the faintest perfume of industrial laundry detergent coming from the starched sheets. He’s pulled the bedspread off the bed. It’s folded neatly on the floor underneath the window. It rises tears along your throat, the idea of him prepping himself, prepping the place, alone in this room where you’ve waited for him countless times and hours. Guilt scrambles your brain, over what, you’re not entirely certain. Keeping him waiting? You failures, plural. All the wrong choices.

“Lee.”

His voice seeps in through the blackness coating your skin, like warm and persistent little droplets of sweet amber.

You turn to face him, at last. An awkward upper-body twist, feet rooted to the brown carpet, teeth clenched around the lump in your throat. He’s wearing that gray threadbare t-shirt you love, the one with a v-neck, and your eyes find the dip at the base of his throat, the fireworks of freckles between his collarbone. Tears well up, too strong to hold back, and you shut your eyes to the muffled sound of his booted steps on the matted carpet.

You’re drifting, enveloped in his warmth, his scent, leather and musk. The contact of his skin as he curls a large hand around your nape, tucking your face into the curve of his strong neck.

His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you closer, flush to his chest, and he presses his chin to your temple. You let go, surrender, honey dripping thick and golden along your loosening limbs.

His pulse beats solid and steady against your cheek. You breathe him in, a hindered inhale at first, and when your shoulders begin to drop, a deeper one. A single tear escapes. It rolls down the round of your cheek into his skin. Your palms skim up to the plane of his back, soaking in his heat, and he presses you in harder, his forearm aligning with your spine, fingers spreading at the base of your skull.

Time stretches. He holds you. You lean in.

Later, after he’s helped you climb into the cab of his truck, you keep your eyes on him as he rounds the red hood.

Sitting behind the wheel, he puts the key in the ignition and, looking at you, tilts his head to the left.

“C’mere,” he says, and you scoot next to him, biting down a relieved sigh as you slide over the seat bench.

He leans over your lap, grabbing the middle seat belt, and buckles you in, then himself. You settle in, with your head against his shoulder, and your hand on his thigh, soft cotton, worn denim. Under your touch, his firm muscles ripple as he drives you into the night, into oblivion. The steady motion lulling you to sleep.

Alongside the deserted road, trees and bushes roll out in the headlights as the truck swallows miles and miles of asphalt.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble after a while, fighting drowsiness.

“Don’t be. You wanna talk about it?” he adds after a pause.

“No.”

You shake your head, your voice so low you’re not certain he’s heard your answer.

“Doesn’t have to be now,” he says. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Your head bobs with his bunching muscles as he releases the wheel to bend his arm at the elbow, fingers threading through your hair. Without lifting his eyes off the road, he leans in, and pecks a pointed kiss on the crown of your head.

Your eyes close. The image of the bedspread neatly folded underneath the window flashes through your mind. You can’t seem to get used to his tender gestures, to his attentions. You hope they will never stop. You hope you will never get used to them.

The emotion washes over you, a soft wave, and you float with it. In the cab of his truck, in his scent and his hold, you feel free of all doubts. Fear and pain cannot find you here. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced so far, a strange feeling, potent and all encompassing, albeit one that doesn’t need to be dulled or tamed.

The words come out of your mouth as a surprise.

“I think I don't want it to define me anymore. My family, I mean. Where I come from.”

This is a new state of mind. Or perhaps it’s been there for a while, a mere shadow on the wall, something you couldn’t clearly discern. Suddenly simple to comprehend and articulate.

“Yea. I get it,” he says.

And you know he does.

You open your eyes, and take in a deep breath, fill your lungs with that distinct old leather scent that clings about him, and the smell of vintage Bakelite from the dashboard, so specific to his truck.

“Music?” you ask.

“Sure, good idea. You like Jefferson Airplane?”

You nod, brushing your cheek against the cottony fabric of his t-shirt, leaving a little bit of you there, for him to find later.

“Yes. I like them.”

“Jefferson Airplane it is, then,” he answers.

Gently, he bends forward, mindful not to nudge you too much, and turns on the stereo. His thick fingers push the tape that’s already there into the slot, and your lips curl with an explicit thought, unlike any you used to have before meeting him. Crude, but welcome pictures that now constantly crowd your brain.

He keeps the volume low, and with the round rumbling of his quiet humming, your mind slowly drifts off again.

You’re about to fall asleep when a thought surfaces, skirting the edges of your consciousness.

“Frankie?” you quietly call.

“Mmh?”

“Are you… Were you in the military?”

The humming stops, his silence abrupt, and his shoulder tenses under your cheek. Pushing away from it, you risk a sleepy glance at his face, plunged in the semi-darkness. It’s not dark enough that you don’t recognize the cocking of his jaw.

“Frankie?” you ask again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“I’m a pilot,” he cuts in, pausing to inhale deeply. “I was in the Army for nearly twenty years. I got a discharge a couple years back.”

You remain silent. His eyes flicker quickly between you and the road, and you give his thigh a strong squeeze with your left hand, before resting your cheek against his shoulder, eluding his searching gaze.

Volunteers is crackling through the speakers, but you don’t hear the music. Fully awake now, your mind is reeling with those scattered, minute parts of him you picked up Friday after Friday to stash them away in your subconscious. His puzzle of shadows. All the things that now make perfect sense, and the ones you’re dying to unravel.

His quiet assertiveness. His hands, quick and sure. His silences. His commanding tone. That long, sideways scar etched on his left flank.

His early rage, and his anger too. The flight forward, dimming his eyes, where deep rich mahogany now glimmers.

The zip ties. Your eyes grow wide, a gasping sound catching in your throat. You’re not ready to address how much you appreciate this particular skill of his, considering where he picked it up.

Your imagination produces a clear vision of him in a US Air Force uniform, the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders, and you bite your lip, your entire body covering in chills.

Frankie has yet to say another word. Something raises your consciousness, something in the scowl sharpening his features as he scanned your face for a reaction.

Images flash through your head. The 8 × 10 picture displayed in your father’s office in its platinum frame, for every visitor to admire. Smooth faced and confident, his sleeves rolled up high on his lean forearms, your father’s shaking hands with Reagan in front of a colorful assemblage of containers, in the industrial quarter of the Tampa Bay Harbor, during the 1984 campaign. His coldly handsome face split by a smile, larger and more genuine than any of those he ever addressed you, let alone Ava.

Recollections of those dragging hours you spent in church as a child, beads of sweat dripping along your spine as you sat in the sweltering heat on a hard wooden bench, rigid and still like a marble statue for fear of being reprimanded.

The hateful, vehement speeches your father would burst into at random, your mother pinching your arm for you to listen, this is important. The uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach, like bile, like nausea. Wrong. This is wrong. A feeling, not an idea yet. It grew with you, expending, to become impossible to see past by the time you started high.

The list of names in your father’s neat handwriting, scrawled on a crisp piece of paper, that he handed you before driving the entire family to the polls for your very first election. The sheer terror, primitive in its hold over you, prickling on your nape as you systematically disregarded his instructions, choosing the names followed by the three letters DEM.

The rare political meetings you secretly attended in college, the pamphlets in loud colors and bold letters, that you read hidden from your roommate’s prying eyes, as if they were satanic verses. Reproductive rights! Demilitarization Now! No to privatized prisons! End gun violence!

Petitions you signed with a shaking hand, because what if your parents found out? What if they heard of it? A dread so profoundly anchored at the very core of your psyche that you have never told Ava any of it, even when she would chastise your lack of interest in politics, your lack of involvement, lest she’d reveal your treason to them in the heat of an argument.

Could this be when you started finding yourself? In your diverging convictions? Could it be enough? Could it count?

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask tentatively.

He huffs a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re a hell of a fast learner, aren’t you?”

“I have a very good teacher,” you shrug, trying to ignore the sharpness in his tone.

Curiosity overthrowing your ingrained fear to displease, you ask, “What kind of aircraft do you fly? Planes? Helicopters?”

He simply nods, and your cheeks heat again at the notion, your heart racing.

“I’m very impressed,” you whisper. “I can barely parallel park.”

“I’m sure you got plenty of other skills,” he answers, softer.

“No. I really don’t.”

—

Frankie walks briskly across the parking lot, carrying a take-away bag and a six-pack of beer. His head hung low to shield his face from the thin, mid-February drizzle. His denim shirt sticks to his back with humidity, and sweat from the drive. It’s pulled uncomfortably taut across his shoulders.

He steps onto the porch, hands too full to open the door or even knock on it, so he gives it three light kicks. A tiny screw pops out from the curved top of the brass number two. The whole thing swivels upside down, swinging like a pendulum.

“Jesus christ, this fucking place,” he scoffs.

The door flies open, and you’re here, with that bright, earnest smile and your wide, luminous eyes. You’ve tied your hair up in a casual do, but you’re still fully dressed. He likes those slacks on you, snug on your curves, wide on your legs. It fits you so much better than the tight pencil skirts you used to wear when he first met you. Those made you look like an 80s porn producer fever dream. But these trousers transform your gait, your entire demeanor, into something more relaxed. More confident. He could watch you strut around the room for hours. If only there was more time.

He catches a glimpse of the mesh fabric of your bra, peeking out from the cleavage of your open shirt, and he mentally curses the corporate fucks who get to work all week around you.

“Hey, Frankie.”

The sharp, familiar pang rips through his chest at the sound of your voice, light and cheery. That ache he waits for seven excruciatingly long days to experience again.

“Hey, baby.”

As you let him in, he feels the tip of your fingers brushing his thigh, as if you need to make sure he’s here in the flesh. The miracle of you wanting him, still.

“What’s in the bag?” you ask, dragging the chipped chair away from the desk, so he can set down his bounty.

His eyes fall on your graceful nape as you crane your neck to see what’s inside the bag, too well-behaved to touch it without having been invited to do so.

“Didn’t have time to eat. I took something for you too, I hope you don’t mind. Did you eat? Are you hungry?”

“I don’t usually eat before I come here,” you admit. “I drive in straight from work,” you add, heat visibly creeping up your neck and ears.

He takes off his hat, ruffling a hand through his hair to conceal a smug smile.

“And you’re not starving, by the time I’m finished with you?”

“Quite the contrary, actually. I feel pretty full when you leave.”

Your lips stretch into a wide grin you’re ineffectively trying to hold back.

“That so?” he chuckles, propping his hands on his hips. For countenance.

Pride glimmers in your eyes, as it does every time you make him laugh. He knows it’s mirrored in his eyes. Your levity is his reward.

Everything about you is unbearably endearing. He’s not sure if he’s hungry for food anymore, or if he’s not going to go straight down on you. You’ve already prepared the bed, that ugly bedspread neatly folded under the window. He could lay you prone on your stomach, lower your trousers to your knees, perk up your pretty ass and eat your sweet cunt from behind.

His hunger for you sizzles along his spine, sparkling in his loins, imperious and distracting. The sensation is delicious, and for once, he takes the time to revel in it. He’s so used to barging in here and just taking. He doesn’t savor, not really, not until after he’s had you at least once.

He’s not proud of his unbridled hunger, the consequence of seven days’ worth of pent-up frustration, chasing your perfume on his clothes and the ghost feeling of your cool, smooth skin under his palms. That ever-growing obsession for your scent, for your eyes, and that crippling craving for the sounds you produce when he moves inside you. That high he gets when he makes you feel good. Every time he gives you what you want.

And there’s the absolute black-out on all communications between you throughout the week that drives him out of his mind. He knows that’s the tacit deal the two of you struck at the very beginning. No phone number, no address, no marks. Hell, he didn’t even know your name until you gave it to him at Christmas. Only, he’s left in the dark for seven consecutive fucking days, with no means to check up on you, and no way to make sure you’re safe.

He understands the necessity for secrecy. But the more time passes, the less it makes sense.

So come Friday night, he needs to crush you under his weight. Needs to feel your flesh gushing through his splayed fingers and hear you mewl his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your body tensing up in his hold before it shatters around his cock.

He needs to fuck you deep and full, find you in that place within yourself and wreck you there. He needs to make sure you’re alright. Make sure you’re real. Make sure you’re his.

And his control might be tenuous, but he sure loves the way you lean into it.

You’re still smiling when he takes a step closer behind you. Lowering his face into the curve of your neck, he inhales you there, that spot behind your ear, where your subtle scent becomes heady. He feels your chest rising with your own deep breathing, and he pictures your eyes fluttering shut. His hand skims the curve of your hip, sliding up to the swell of your breast over the smooth fabric of your shirt, gripping you roughly as he takes your earlobe between his lips and sucks on it. His hips move against your ass of their own volition, his cock half-hard, fucking twitching.

“Frankie,” you whine.

“Yea?”

He licks a broad stride up your neck, collecting the tangy taste of your skin, mixed with the chemical one of your perfume.

“What’s in the bag?”

“What bag, baby? Oh, right.”

It’s a beat before he can detach himself from you. His cock is beating hard and angry against the confining fabric of his jeans. With a light brush of his knuckles along your side, he reminds himself there’s also pleasure in the anticipation. The word sits in the back of his throat, like a knife ready to bleed him dry. Concupiscence.

Ripping the paper bag open in the middle, he smooths both sides neatly over the desk, and points at the three rolls wrapped in tin foil.

“Took three burritos, and some fried beans. There’s one beef, one pork, and one vegetarian, in case you don't eat meat.”

You look at him with a twinkle in your eyes, your grin getting wider than he’s ever seen it. He braces a hand flat on the desk.

“Oh, I eat meat, I thought you’d know that.”

The words have barely left your mouth that you burst into a fit of giggles, covering your face with both hands.

“Christ, woman!” he laughs. “Alright, sit down. Let’s get proper food into that mouth of yours, for once.”

Together, you unfold the bedspread and arrange it over the foot of the bed. The thing is already stained, and you mutually agree there’s no need to make a mess of the white sheet just yet.

Letting you pick between the two richer ones, he takes the vegetarian burrito, and you start eating together, two open cans of beer at your feet.

His bites are ravenous, while you nibble gingerly at your food, holding the burrito with two hands, the foil crackling between your fingers. After a few bites, however, you start eating in bigger chunks.

“This is delicious,” you moan with your mouth full.

Is he getting jealous of a fucking burrito now? Is that where he’s at?

“What, you never had a burrito in your life?”

You wince, and he immediately regrets the teasing skepticism of his tone.

Setting the food down, you dab a paper towel to the corner of your mouth, catching a fleck of sauce. There’s grace in all your movements, even the tiniest ones.

“My mother monitored everything I ate. God forbid I put on any weight,” you explain, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

He lowers his hands, eyes trained on your averted gaze.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you tell him, looking up at him.

There’s that quiet resignation painted all over your face.

“Try me.”

“You’re thinking I’m a grown woman, old enough to make her own decisions.”

He shakes his head. “Was actually thinking your mother sounds like the exact opposite of mine.”

Your mouth curves into a sad attempt at a smile.

“I don't judge you, Lee. We all do what we can with what we got dealt with.”

A slight frown knits your brow, as you seem to consider his words.

He has spent a lot of time, lately, reflecting over his own choices, and the many places where they’ve led him, for better or for worse.

Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. Libya and the most dangerous places in sub-Saharan Africa. Nearly everywhere in South America. Twice over.

Over the fucking Andes, and to Tom’s funeral.

Choices that also made him Lua’s father.

Crossroads that have taken him all the way to that shithole bar, last year at the end of August. Conscious decisions that brought him here, into this room. Into your arms. Into your life.

A chain reaction he wouldn’t alter, he knows it now, even if he was given the chance for a do-over.

He used to consider things as definite. Choices as absolute and irrevocable. It took him becoming a father, and meeting you, to understand his mother’s words. Paso a paso, she’d say, watching him with a tender, knowing smile as he rushed toward his life. Paso a Paso, Francisco.

You eat in silence for a while, and he keeps watching you. That sharp pain solidly entrenched inside his chest, blooming through his heart, he has to make a conscious effort to breathe around it.

He bought you the food you’re eating right now. Drove to his favorite place, stood in line and placed his order with you in mind. And you’re enjoying it. In fact, you’re demonstrating an impressive appetite, hungrier, messier with every bite. Sauce dripping down your chin. Pink flashes of tongue licking it from between your fingers.

He could get used to that. Providing for you. Taking care of you. In more than just one way. Sharing the mundane routine of a daily life together.

But this is not real. Whatever is happening between the four walls of this shitty motel is not ground for life-altering choices.

“Do you want to share the pork one?” you ask, crinkling the tinfoil wrapper into a compact ball.

“I’m good, baby,” he answers with a soft smile. “You can have it. Just make sure you’re still hungry for more meat when you’re done.”

—

Adrian has gifted you a new purse from another French luxury brand. It’s a square-shaped thing cut from some grayish reptile skin, with a matching tag and a decorative lock hanging from its handle. It looks insanely expensive and ridiculously vulgar, its tackiness almost cruelly ironic. Like a rich people’s inside joke.

Somehow, you’re vaguely aware this model is exclusive and can’t be bought online or even in stores, however high-end. It has to be ordered, and there’s a waiting list. Useless knowledge you probably gathered from one of your mother’s magazines. A family of four could most likely live comfortably for a whole year for the price of this thing.

Incidentally, there’s a new perfume clinging to Adrian’s clothes when he comes home late at night. The first time you caught a whiff of the heady fragrance, intense vanilla and white musk, it reminded you of the stunning blonde with feline hazel eyes.

The gift immediately felt less like an expression of gratitude for your support than like a reward for your silent compliance. But it’s of little to no importance. The bag sits idly at the bottom of your walk-in dressing. Unused, containing what’s left of the love and respect you once harbored for the man.

Every so often, you think about it, as you cruise along the 589. It makes you smile. A wide, Cheshire cat grin, one that bares your front teeth, and you wonder if it’s cruel of you to smile about the end of something that used to mean so much. Something that meant nearly everything. You wonder if you’ve ever been cruel before. Intentionally, that is.

Then, you conclude you don’t care. This particular kind of cruelty feels far too good. Too righteous. You could get used to it.

And you keep cruising along the 589 northbound.

—

“Mark Twain or Lewis Carroll?”

“Oh god, Frankie, I don’t know…” you moan, too distracted to think straight.

Teeth ghosting a bite over your neck, he wraps a kiss around your skin, sucking on it. Not sharply enough to bruise, but enough for you to clench hard around him.

In the past few weeks, he’s become playful. It’s new to you. Was it always a part of him, constituent but buried underneath the scars and the years, or was it born from your touch?

He’s become talkative, too. Talkative, and curious. But then again, perhaps he always was. Only, not with you.

Thus, there are new rituals between you. Secrets exchanged behind the shielding partition of the yellow curtains. Murmurs shared underneath the droning of the ceiling fan, in the golden lighting from the quaint bedside lamps.

Some of his questions can pose a challenge. You’re not always certain about the proper answer. The right one. You were raised to say what was expected of you. Taught to speak to please, not to speak your mind. To wait for your cue, and hold your thoughts in between.

Frequently, you hesitate, afraid to trip on your words.

But he doesn’t easily relent. He’s playful and curious. But above all, he’s patient and persistent.

“I don’t know,” you repeat.

“You know. Come on.”

“Okay, um… Lewis Carroll. I love– I love Alice.”

“Oh yea? You do? You like following big white rabbits to strange places, huh?”

His chest shakes with his raspy chuckle, and you laugh, until he pulls you in closer, sheathing himself deeper inside you, and your laughter plummets into a throaty groan.

Seamlessly, these new ceremonials have replaced the old ones, the ones that were carried out under wary gazes, in appraising silence.

Now, you don’t always count your steps on Fridays, but you leave work earlier, and when you arrive at the motel, you try to engage Raul in conversation. His discomfort is obvious, bordering on annoyance, as you disrupt his concentration while he’s busy drawing charcoal landscapes of jagged mountains. But these past two weeks, he seems to have loosened up a bit. Either you’re wearing him off, or he’s trying to get rid of you faster.

On the porch, in front of room number 2, you watch the sun slowly sink into the canopy of trees in an explosion of tangerine pink. Every week, the sunset creates a different palette of orange, but your emotion continues to be whole and unaltered.

Before stepping in, you flick the upside-down brass number. It smiles in greeting, swinging on its one remaining screw.

You wish the place carried Frankie’s scent. It never does, of course. As you fold the comforter and prop it under the windowsill, the only smells wafting around are that of laundry detergent, dust, and the faintest hint of mold.

There’s nothing tangible for you to hold on to in his absence, and this is by far the most difficult. It creates a vacuum, a fertile soil for foul, festering thoughts. Doubt, dread, agitation. During those seven days apart, there is no text or voicemail on your phone you can turn to for reassurance. No photo booth pictures stashed inside your wallet. No clothes of his to drape over your body and keep you warm and safe. Keep you sane.

Every so often, when you cannot find sleep, you convoke the memory of his gray t-shirt, the one with the v-neck and the pilled fabric. The sensation of the slightly rugged cotton under the pads of your fingers. The immediate comfort gently lulls you to sleep.

There is one thing, one thing only: the receipt from the burrito place, that you retrieved from the wastebasket after he’d left, that one time he brought you food. It’s tucked between two pages of your Moleskine planner. You’re not sure whether it’s cute or downright pathetic.

You had thought the want, the yearning, would ease with time. It only kept spreading to every corner of your existence, every aspect of your life. Instead of only missing his touch, you now miss his voice, too. His choice of words, the cadence of his speech, the pace of his gait. His crinkled-eyes, dimpled smile. The way he rolls up his sleeves, leaves the top buttons of his shirt open, and the way he undresses. His three-finger hold on his glass. His long reflecting pauses before he speaks. The freedom and safety you experience with him.

You just became better at handling the longing. Recently, you have become very good at handling numerous things. Quietly but steadfastly defying your father’s injunctions to comply with his dress code. Adrian’s glaring eyes of blue, their silent judgement. Ava living a life of her own, far away from you.

Reading helps. You hadn’t read in years, and you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it. Now, you carry a book with you everywhere in your I ❤ NY tote. In these last moments before he walks into the room, you lie on your side across the motel bed, your head propped on your hand, and you read.

And when Frankie arrives, everything makes sense again, everything is justified.

The wooden door creaks open, the brass number swiveling frantically, and his relief upon seeing you lights up the dim room. Hushed greetings, his large hands curling at your waist, pulling you into him, a husk of Hey, baby, his lips barely leaving yours while he tugs at your clothes, undressing you already.

There’s rarely any other form of preamble beyond an occasional variation of Fuck, I really missed you, Lee , his teeth trailing down the line of your throat, sinking in just shy of a bite. Out of breath, out of time.

The wait is over.

Does he still come here to escape? Does he come here for you? His urgency hasn’t abated. But his intent feels different.

Stop me, skin on skin, chest to chest, the weight of his body covering yours, calloused hands hooked on your shoulders for purchase, pounding into you loud and ruthless.

Stop me, crouched over you like a devouring beast, his face buried into the crook of your neck, shallow breaths and gripping hands, grinding deep inside your heat.

Stop me, and what you hear is, I trust you.

Deep grunts thrumming out of his throat, tumbling from his plush lips into your skin, a searing branding, an invisible mark.

His plea. Lee.

He comes right after you do, pulling out just in time to spurt hot and thick over your arching body, or inside your wanting mouth.

Later, when his spend has dried on your skin, when he’s kissed the soreness better, when your breathing has slowed, he brings you a glass of water, and waits until you’ve drank it all to bury his face between your legs, or fuck your throat if you begged him to.

And on some Fridays, he goes by the desk to sit on the rectangular chair. He positions it sideways from the framed mirror. Says the reflection distracts you. It’s true.

You could spend hours watching him. Watching him move, watching him sleep. Watch the care he puts in the way he handles his clothes and his truck and your pliant body. Watch him button up his jeans or tie his belt around your wrists. Watch his curls catch the light as he combs his fingers through them, the working of his throat, the pulsating throb of his heartbeat in his strong neck. The dip in his collarbone. The darker scar on his side. The muscles of his shoulders and his back, rippling under his freckled skin. Watch, and map those freckles with your lips.

You could spend the rest of your life with him.

“C’mere,” he beckons, with a little tilt of his head, and a light pat on his thigh.

You get up from wherever he left you lying, the bed, the rough carpeting, the bathroom tiles, and walk over to him on wobbly legs. There, he draws you into his lap in a face-away straddle, his hands on your waist guiding you, firm and gentle, as he makes room for himself inside of you. The tip of your toes barely reach the carpet once you’re seated, and you have to rely entirely on him for balance. You like that.

He braces his strong arms around you, and you keep your fingers curled around them, reclining against him, against his warmth. You like the sticky sensation of your combined sweats gluing your loose bodies. Your back molds to his chest like it was shaped for this very purpose.

Your head tips back onto his firm shoulder, and he props his chin in the curve of your neck. The slight swaying of your hips is languid and slow, barely perceivable, in the same way the earth’s revolution around the sun is imperceptible to its inhabitants.

Time lingers, in long lazy stretches, infinite moments in the amber lighting of the room, in the friendly shadows. In the heart of the night, and the folds of your existence. The low husk of his voice like honey in your ears, his words vibrating from his chest to your back, to your core.

You can hear the smile in his tone. If you close your eyes, you can see it.

He asks about your taste in books, music or movies, food and entertainment, and tells you about his. Silly games of Would you rather? and Never have I ever.

Scrunching up your nose under your pinched brow, brain cells scrambling back together inside your hazy brain, you try to produce coherent answers as his lush lips trace intricate patterns along your skin, your throat, your shoulders, nimble fingertips rolling your nipples into hardened peaks. A scrape of his teeth, followed by the wet glide of his tongue, soothing over your flushed skin.

Sometimes, you feel so full it’s overwhelming. The sensation, the emotion strangles the air out of you. Your cunt flutters around the thick, stiff girth of him, and he lets out a gravelly groan, cock throbbing inside your snug walls. Your slick pools down onto the coarse curls at his base. It’s like a virtuous circle. Everything feels right with him.

After a while, when you’ve melted inside, when amber twirls in your bloodstream and your thoughts have turned to swirling molasses, his hand slides down along your stomach. His calloused fingers parting your folds, he starts rubbing at your clit, telling you that it’s time to come for me, baby.

And when you do, he comes with you, shoving you down and deep onto his pulsating length, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth pressed to that sensitive spot over your pulse point, his feverish grunts sizzling against your damp skin.

When he comes inside you, when you come together, you are made brand-new. Anything’s possible. There’s nothing you can’t do.

The elating sensation is your favorite daydream, sitting at your desk, over dinner, stuck in traffic, or in the blue hours before dawn. It sustains you throughout the week. The promise of it tingles in tense anticipation, from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes, when you watch him walk over to the desk and fold his tall, massive figure into the ugly chair.

Week after week, question after question, you come into focus between his arms. It’s terrifying, and exhilarating. You keep getting better at it.

It’s a bittersweet ache, tender and addictive, to learn about his existence outside this room of yours. The borderless confines of his life. Of him. The details he chooses to confide in you, about his childhood, his past, and his present, in the dead of the night, his body wrapped around yours, chasing the contact of your skin. Chasing your touch, your softness, your understanding, when he used to grunt away from it. Like a threat, with bared teeth, and a shake of his head. A forbidding. A not yet.

It makes sense to you now. There’s an absolute about him. An all or nothing. You’re not sure when it happened. The tipping point. Perhaps in the bathroom, on that sunny morning after Christmas, when he crowded you against the sink with a wolfish look turning his gorgeous face dark and threatening. You think it was meant to scare you. One last attempt. Your last chance to recoil and escape.

You didn’t. You kept blooming, unfurling into your own limbs under the dark depth of his gaze, reflected in the black-edged mirror. You pressed back into him, the solid, steadying bulk of his body, of his broad chest. You pushed back and sunk deeper into his world.

Today, he had to scoop you up from the floor where you were lying, boneless, in the wet mess he drew out of you.

When he stormed into the room, you could still hear the engine of the truck revving. A scowl shadowed his face. Fidgety, tightly wound up, he began undressing you without a word. Unceremonious in his need, an echo of those early days, when he was imprisoned in his past, when his strength was unrestrained, when violence was his sole language.

Fingers digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders, carding through his hair, you sought eye contact, softly cooing, I’m here, Frankie, I’m here, until your voice got through him. Until he heard you, slowing down, drawing you close. His forehead smearing sweat over your temple, his ragged breathing fanning the shell of your ear. His fist clutching the fabric of your shirt in a ball, with a push-pull motion, torn and primal, I need it, Lee. Please, I need you.

You relented, gave into it, lose and pliant as he bent you over the desk with a press of his palm, flat between your shoulder blades, as he pulled your panties to the side and lined himself up, as he thrust into you in one ruthless shove, down to his base. The clasp of his watch biting into your flesh. He was still fully clothed.

Pulling on your wrists with an iron grip, he drilled into you at a brutal pace, skin catching at your entrance along his length, and you bit your lips through it, nearly drawing blood, until, at the very center of you, the pain turned into something blindingly pleasurable, bright and searing. A shockwave, erupting from your core, fast spreading along your limbs, lighting up every nerve-ending.

Tensing under his constraining hold, bucking against his grip, you cried out his name, your back achingly stiff. Slick gushing out of you fast and hot, as your legs trembled uncontrollably, and through the din of it all, his rumbling growl, a guttural string of Fuck, before you slumped onto the desk and he fucked his own release into you.

When he let go of you, he had to lay you on the carpet, where he collapsed next to you, chest heaving with exertion. Time blurred, you might have spent the whole night lying there, staring blankly at the popcorn ceiling, but he got up to undress.

He’s cradling you on his lap now, gently rocking into you. The slow and steady rhythm of his heartbeat aligned with yours, you’re bathed in his warmth, enveloped by his musky scent. You play along, searching your brain for answers. To his questions, and yours.

There’s no evidence of his earlier outburst, saved for his thumbs drawing circles on your wrists where his fingers left a bruising indent. And of course, the wet spot on the carpet.

Nuzzling your jawline, he trails a path of messy, lazy kisses down the column of your neck, capturing the tender skin between his plush lips, his tongue peeking through them.

“I should read it again. Alice. Read it so long ago. When I was a kid.”

Humming distractedly in agreement, your head lolls back on his shoulder.

“Did I hurt you, earlier?”

Your eyelids fly open. His voice is barely a murmur, no more than warm breath grazing your ear, and you feel him throb inside you.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

The vulnerability in his words shoots through your heart like a bullet. You free your arms to twine your fingers with his.

“What happened today, Frankie?”

His chest stiffens underneath you.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. It’s more… It’s the date.”

The overhead fan hums over the room, louder than your breathing, louder than his.

“A year ago, I agreed to a mission. With my former teammates. It was… It was bullshit. From the start. Nothing went as planned.”

He pauses and you wait, still and silent.

“One of us got killed.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, squeezing his hands with all of your strength.

A chilling, bone-deep dread settles over your body in the sweltering heat, so cold he can probably feel it. You don’t want him to.

“You said you resigned a couple of years ago?”

“I did. I worked for the private sector, on occasions. It’s over now.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Fuck no,” he snarls. “But some of my friends did. I– I had to go.” He clears his throat. “I chose to go.”

“Do you miss him?”

He doesn’t answer for a while. Lifting his hand in yours, you give his knuckles a long, open-mouthed kiss. His forehead rests heavy against the back of your head, his eyelashes a fluttering caress on your nape.

“For a long time, I felt responsible for his death.”

His words are dense with defeat. With sadness, and fatality. They sink heavily into you, into your bloodstream. You don’t need a mirror to know what his face looks like at this very moment. Your body will remember it, even if you live long enough to forget your own name. The pitch-blackness of his beautiful eyes, the stern crease splitting his brow, imploring for your touch. The tightness in his jaw. The downward curve of his plush lips.

That first night at the motel comes back rushing like a flood, like a wildfire. His roughness, the urgency saturating his actions, the anger in his grief. His bleeding wounds, invisible, evident, glaring. He reached for you through his despair, clutching your body, clinging to the idea of you.

Are you real?

I don’t know.

A dry sob wells up in your throat, but you swallow it down.

“What do you think now?”

“I think it doesn’t matter who’s responsible for his death. His girls are still orphaned.”

Between your lungs, the wild creature curls up into a ball. Its tears fill up your heart. There isn’t any pill or alcohol strong enough to numb this pain of yours. But it doesn’t matter. You want to feel what he feels.

You turn around. You kiss him.

—

“What about this one?”

He should be leaving soon. But your body’s soft and relaxed, curled into his side on the rumpled bed. Pleasantly cool in the muggy atmosphere of the motel room, in the dawn’s indigo hues. Your thin fingers hover gracefully over his skin, tracing the outlines of his scars, and it’s like you’re reshaping his entire body, all of his wounds, and his whole life, with the gentle touch of your fingertips.

“Frankie, what’s this one?”

He should be leaving soon. The sun’s about to come up.

“Did you save it for last because it’s the largest?” he deflects with a smirk.

Folding an arm over his chest, you prop your chin over it, frowning exaggeratedly with your jaw shifting to the side. He laughs so hard that your head bobbles with his shaking belly.

“That supposed to be an impression of me?”

“You recognized yourself,” you smile, sitting up next to him.

He should be leaving soon. And you know it. You’re giving him the space he needs to get up and get out. He fucking hates it.

“Stay here,” he says, curling his fingers around your arm as you’re about to get down from the bed.

The look you give him awakens the pain in his chest. You peer through the curtains, into the blue morning sky, and your gaze returns to him with a silent question.

“Come on. Please. Just a little longer.”

It’s not lost on him that he should be the one getting up. Not pleading.

The mattress creaks in protest as you move over it on your knees, sitting in a straddle across his hips.

“Yea, that’s better,” he smiles, smoothing his palms over your thighs. His left hand slides up to palm your breast, and he notices he hasn’t taken off his watch, tonight. It’s the second time this month.

“What’s this one?” you ask again, entirely undistracted, measuring up your hand to the length of the darker patch of skin.

“Okay,” he sighs, “I crashed a chopper near– wait, I can’t actually tell you that.”

“Jesus, Frankie,” you gasp, spreading both hands over the old wound, as if to stop a ghost bleeding. Your eyes have grown so wide, they eat up half your face.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s old. Wasn’t a big deal.”

It had been a big deal, at the time. There had been talks of awarding him a Silver Star for that mission.

“Did it hurt?”

“Mostly my pride. It wasn’t that bad, don’t worry. Nothing compared to what my sister threatened to do to me if I didn't leave the Army.”

“I can’t say I blame her. I would have probably done the same.”

“Ok, my turn. What’s this one?”

His left thumb skims along the thin line on your inner thigh, and he feels you tensing under his touch.

“It’s nothing,” you snap, taking your hands off his skin as if you just got burnt.

He presses his thumb into your soft flesh. The pain in his chest accentuates, radiating down to his stomach.

“You’re cheating,” he says, as softly as he can.

You face away from him, gaze flickering up to the window again, and you start moving away, but he holds you firmly in place with both hands on your waist.

“Lee. Tell me what it is.”

Seconds turn into minutes, the only sound in the room that of the ceiling fan’s motor, and the pain grows stronger, pulsating from his neck to his gut. Your eyes remain trained on the window, lost somewhere beyond the curtains.

“I had several more like this,” you start. Your tone is detached, your voice distant. “Smaller ones. On the back of my arms. When I was 17, my mother took me to a dermatologist. He removed them with laser treatment.”

You pause, and look down at him.

“She got me fixed, so I could find a good husband.”

His fingers dig into your flesh. It’s a full minute before he remembers to breathe, through his nose, because he can’t unclench his jaw. The chest pain turns into blinding, white-hot rage. His truck is parked outside and in his mind, the sequence of actions is crystal clear. Get you dressed. Get you in the cab. Drive away with you as far as the road goes, and never come back here.

“It burnt like hel—“

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he cuts in.

“I’m really not, Frankie,” you calmly answer. “What I am is a coward.”

He sits up with a cinch, cupping your face so you can’t recoil from him. Somehow, this would be easier if you looked upset. If you were crying. Showing any kind of emotion, really. But you’re far beyond that.

“I can’t let you say that. Not when you risk everything to come here every week.”

“Alright, so I’m a selfish coward,” you say with a joyless little smile.

“No. You’re perfect. You’re my perfect girl. Say it.”

It’s there. Your unbending will, your steel-hard determination. In your defiant gaze and your pinched lips. In the distance you're trying to put between your body and his.

“Okay, fine. Don’t say it. I’ll keep repeating it until you believe me. I can be fucking persistent, you know?” he adds, falling back onto the pillows.

“I know you can,“ you say, lifting a leg off the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he nearly growls, a bruising grip on your thigh, “I’m not done with you.”

His clipped tone appears to be more effective on you. You sit back down, let your shoulders relax, and the palm of your hands find his skin again. Distant gaze, cold touch.

“What’s this one?” he asks, the blunt fingernail of his thumb grazing the grid-shaped scar on your left knee, his tone barely a question, and to his surprise, you come alive with a spark in your eyes.

“Oh! This one’s a good scar. I like it.”

You adjust your position over him, slotting your folds over his resting cock, and a coiling heat stirs in his loin.

“I had a bicycle when I was a kid. The most beautiful bicycle in the entire world. Red, the exact same shade as your truck. With a round cushion protection on the frame, I don’t know how you call that, and the letters MBK painted in white over it, you know the kind?”

He nods, and you continue talking.

“I would spend hours riding it. I would disappear for entire afternoons. It was heaven. And maybe you’re not going to believe me, but I was pretty reckless on that thing.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

You’re smiling again.

“Well, one day, I was too reckless. I hit the brakes too abruptly and I skidded over gravel. I flew ten feet away from the bike and I tore my knee open. I got home covered in blood, my parents were furious.”

A vengeful smile curves your lips, one he’s never seen on your face.

“They confiscated the bike. My mother said it wasn’t ladylike, and my father said– I can’t remember his exact words, probably 'you can’t damage my property,’ or something along those lines. They never let me on a bike again after that.”

“How’s that a happy story?” he frowns.

“I didn’t say it was a happy story. I said it’s a good scar. I got to keep this one. It reminds me of what I’m capable of. Even when I want to forget.”

The sun is rising. A new day colors the sky in vivid bronze. The light filters into the room through the yellow curtains, dust particles suspended in the air, suspended like Frankie’s life when he can’t be with you.

He should leave, but instead, he’s going to fuck you one more time. Pump you full of his come. Brand you with his essence, mark you as his in the only way he can before he has to let you go back to face those people who put murder on his mind.

His hands skim along your thighs to the swell of your ass, roughly kneading the round of your cheeks. His grip settles on your hips, and he bucks up into you, ever so lightly, his length hardening between your lips. He sees it on your face, on your profile bathed in the first ray of sunlight. The moment when you register his intention. The shift in your body, the echo to his desire. So powerful, so immediate, it’s almost like black magic. Your mouth parts open, your back arches. You press down on him.

“That serves him well, your father,” he says, sliding you slowly over his cock.

“How’s that?” you ask, voice laced with lust.

“Look what you’re riding now.”

—

The pillow is damp underneath your back, sweat exuding from your every pore. The last days of March have been unforgiving. You find yourself longing for a room with a proper air conditioning system, instead of the motel’s weak, outdated fan that only swishes hot air.

Frankie’s searing touch doesn’t help. Stroking the back of your arm in a repetitive up-and-down motion, he’s laying across the bed, his head resting heavy on your lap, his long hair curling in every direction in this sweltering atmosphere.

Instead of shying away from the discomfort, you embrace it. With your fingers twined in his locks, you lean into his touch, focusing on his high forehead, and the crease in his brow. On his long eyelashes, the curve of his lips as he speaks, the working of his throat.

Ignoring the dark blue rectangle of night sky, gradually lightening up behind the musty curtains.

Dawn used to be a deliverance. From your thoughts that the night painted black. From the wait, when Adrian wouldn’t come back. From a forced rest that never really came, another disappointment, another let down, another part of your life requiring the artificial help of chemicals.

Now, you resent it. Dawn is when Frankie leaves you behind to go back to his family. Dawn is when he’s the happiest, with his child, without you, in a realm over which you have no grasp.

A rational part of you acknowledges that it’s easier if he leaves before the sun rises. It prevents you from yearning for things you’re afraid to want. Things you cannot have. A life with him in broad daylight. A life without shame.

Recently, he’s become increasingly reluctant to let go of you. Dawn finds him wrapped around your body. Last week, he stayed past daybreak, and fucked you in the sunlight.

The brighter tone of his skin, the lighter shade of his curls, the depth of his mahogany irises hit by a sunbeam, everything was like a knife through your chest.

“Lee?”

The caressing timber of his husky voice brings you back to the soft amber light from the dusty lampshades, to the humming fan, and the blue rectangle.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“I asked if you like it. Your job.”

“God no, I hate it! Sales productivity statistics and accounting manager, can you picture me?”

He huffs his breathless chuckle, the one that sends tremors rippling through your chest.

“Not really, no.”

“I’m terrible at it, and it’s a problem, but no one says anything because daddy runs the company. I don’t understand why he insists on maintaining me in this position. It’s like a power play. He needs me to be miserable.”

Frankie’s hand pauses, fingers digging into your flesh, and he cranes his neck to peer at your face. You give him a reassuring smile. A genuine one.

“Is that what you studied at university? Accounting and statistics?”

You wipe your sweaty brow with the back of your hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yes. But university was a golden parenthesis. I minored in Russian literature. Not a skill that easily translates to the employment market, but Richard was thoroughly pissed,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

“My little punk.”

His smile is brighter than the midday sun. Your index finger darts to the dimple in his right cheek.

“I really like this,” you whisper, your voice dropping, thick with heat and arousal. With affection. “And these,” you add, scraping your fingernail over the bare patches on each side of his jaw.

“Mmh. I’ve noticed,” he says with a smug expression.

“Oh, you have?” You try to laugh off your embarrassment, but what comes out is a quivering sound, betraying the want that hinders your throat.

He grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth, closing his plush lips around your index finger, wrapping his tongue around it. Your belly quakes. You clench around nothing.

He releases your hand, and you hope he’ll get up and move over you, but instead, he reaches for your arm again, resuming his rhythmic strokes.

“So what would you do, if you didn’t do this?” he asks.

You sigh, glancing up, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror above the desk.

“I’ve no idea, really. I never allowed myself to consider the possibility.” And before he can prod any further, you add, “What about you? What would you have liked to do, if you hadn’t become a pilot?”

The diversion doesn’t fool him, you know it. You’re acutely aware of his gaze, scrutinizing your face. You picture the familiar, pensive frown. His hand leaves your arm as he suddenly gets up, air hitting your damp skin where his head was lying.

A few strides, and he steps into the bathroom, disappearing behind the partition wall. The tap runs for a moment, and there’s the distinct sound of wrung out fabric before he comes out, holding the hand towel.

You watch him walk back toward you, his naked body glistening with sweat, highlighted in shadows in the warm lighting. You think about how beautiful it is, about your extensive, intimate knowledge of it. How it feels under your touch, every single part of him. How this knowledge is now constituent of the woman you have become.

You know the callousness of his palms that catches at your clothes. You know the silkiness of his curls around your fingers, the smoothness of his chest against your breasts, the taste of his mouth and the bobbing of his pebbled throat between your lips. The thicker skin of his shoulders, tanned and freckled. The coarseness of the darker hairs under his navel, and how they feel rubbing at your clit. You know the weight of his cock in your hand, on your tongue, inside your walls.

And if you know all this, then, isn’t he yours?

He circles the bed over to your side, by the window, and sits next to you.

Delicately, his fingers circle your wrist. He lifts your arm, and brings your hand to his lips, nuzzling the relaxed curl of your fingers open, to press a kiss inside your palm. His eyes briefly flicker shut as he inhales the transparent skin of your inner wrist.

Lowering your arm, he starts running the towel along it and you jolt at the contact of the cold, wet fabric, letting out a short whimpering sound.

The sensation is sudden, seizing like an electrical shock, but the relief is immediate. The coolness radiates on the surface of your feverish skin, soothing your thoughts. Eyes fluttering shut, you relax into it.

“Maybe an architect,” he starts, the towel gliding up to your shoulder, “or a carpenter. Build stuff, for a change. Instead of destroying them.”

Goosebumps break out along your arms, on your nape, as he skims the towel over the plane of your chest in slow, meticulous movements. As he rounds your breasts with reverent care, one, then the other, your nipples tightening in peaked buds, the low rumble of his voice filling your mind, his words boring into your heart.

The towel brushes up, tracing your collarbone, left, then right. Higher along the column of your throat, curling to the side of your neck. A droplet of water rolls down between your breasts, running along your stomach to end its course into your navel. You sigh.

“I could… run a small business, building houses or crafting furniture. In a small town, somewhere up north. Somewhere with seasons,” he says.

The towel wipes over your trembling belly, over your mound, down your inner thigh. He’s slow, precise, thorough. Careful and gentle with your limp limbs. You’re sinking into the mattress, and floating over it all at once.

You lift a heavy eyelid, your dazed gaze landing on his gorgeous face. He’s solemn, focused on his task.

He readjusts his position on the mattress, so lightly the bed barely moves, and twists his torso to reach down your leg.

“You could be my accountant.”

Your eyes shoot open. He’s facing away from you, wiping the towel under the arch of your foot.

“The last thing you want is to have me as your bookkeeper,” you whisper, your heart beating in your throat.

He turns around, looking straight at you. Soft sad eyes, cold hard stare.

“That’s all I want for the rest of my life, Lee. Be with you night and day.”

—

Everything seems to hinge on you now.

His balance, his happiness, his redemption.

You filled a void, a hollowness inside his chest, he carries you with him wherever he goes. A pale shade of yellow and celadon green.

He tries to convince himself it’s harmless. That he’s not doing anything wrong. That it’s easier this way. Easier than the drugs, easier than placing that burden on his daughter’s shoulders. He tells himself the peace you bring him makes him a better man, and a better father. Makes him worthy again. There might even be some truth to it.

He’s not so sure if he deserves the second chance. If he deserves the parts of you that you confide in him. Your past, your regrets, your secret victories. Your hindered aspirations and the shores of your inner island, within his reach. The touch of your cool skin. The strength of your embrace. The veneration in your eyes. Your trust, your faith. Your time.

But he wants to believe it. It’s more of a fundamental need, really.

And as long as he’s with you, the illusion holds. When you’re sitting next to him in the truck, singing along to the tunes playing on the old crackling stereo as he drives to nowhere, when his body’s wrapped around yours in the dark, when he murmurs against your temple everything and anything that runs through his mind, when you’re coming undone between his hold, with his name on your lips. He believes he can be as good for you as you are for him.

But it’s a thin fabric. One that tears the very minute he steps outside the room, leaving your sleepy form tucked under the starchy sheet.

Day after day, until the next week, he’s left on his own to fence off the thoughts that plague him.

The voice inside him, relentless, somber, asking how much longer this can last. How long before the consequences on your life are irreversible? How long until that man who’s not your husband finds out, and takes action? What repercussions would you face, then?

He knows what he’d be capable of if he ever met him. He doesn’t like to think about it.

You won’t open up about your life with him, no matter how much he prods and pry. He knows your strength. And he chose to trust it.

Seven months, and one week. He sat down with the cardboard calendar hanging above Lupe’s desk at work, and counted. His mind crowded, overflowing with what ifs.

What if he took you out of this shitty motel, for once? Not just to drive into the night, but on a proper date. Dinner. A movie. Fucking lunch. A weekend somewhere. An entire vacation.

What if he took you out of your life?

Lupe started dating this Marcus guy back in December. Now she’s staying at his place every other night. The man is decent, one of the best paramedics he’s worked with, honest, reliable and steadfast. The kind of man Lupe deserves, and that he doesn’t mind around Lua.

He should move out of the house. Lupe hasn’t said anything yet, but it’s just one more grace she gives him that he hasn’t earned. Every time they see each other, Will hints at it, the allusions becoming increasingly less subtle.

The truth is, he sees no point in moving forward with his life if it’s not with you. If it’s not to take care of you, and provide for you. Watch you thrive, keep you safe.

A couple of weeks back, when he’d first thought about it, he’d deemed the idea crazy, painfully aware of all the frustrations a couple’s daily life entails.

Now, it’s the only choice that makes any sense to him.

—

The airport terminal is bustling with flocks of tourists. Noisy families with children too young to travel, transient businessmen and women, groups of youths of dubious soberness flying out after spring break.

Ava stands out in the crowd, her tall frame topped with a short bob of bright purple hair, and you spot her immediately. Standing on your tiptoes, you wave at her until she sees you and starts running in your direction.

She all but leaps into your open arms, and you both grab at each other, leaning into the embrace, laughing. You inhale her scent, searching for that baby smell in the crook of her neck.

“Oh my god, pup, your hair!” you exclaim. “You look terrific!”

“Yeah? You like it?” she asks with a broad smile, running her fingers through her locks.

“I love it! It’s perfect for you!”

In turn, she takes you in, looking you up and down, and lets out a low whistling sound.

“You look good, too. You look better than good. You look gorgeous!”

“Oh shush,” you gesture bashfully, but you can’t hold back your own smile.

The two of you walk to the parking lot to retrieve your car, immersed in bubbly conversation, oblivious to the moving crowds around you.

Driving out of the airport, you glance at the sign indicating the 589 northbound and smile at your precious secret, before making a left turn south.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks, “I’m hungry! Feed me! Feedmefeedmefeedme!” she chants, before breaking into a high-pitched giggle.

“Alright, alright! Hold tight, I’m taking you somewhere special. Do you like burritos?”

“Who doesn’t like burritos? Wait, what? Burritos? Do you even eat burritos? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

You had to type the address from the crumpled receipt into your GPS. Until today, you’ve never allowed yourself to go there. Not on your own.

It’s a small cantina with tiled walls and concrete floors, colorful trinkets arranged in pyramidal displays behind the counter, chalkboard menus and an endless list of drinks. Star-shaped lanterns are hanging from the ceiling, and the staff is busy but jovial.

Lunchtime on a Saturday, the place is packed with couples and kids, and your pulse accelerates. You hadn’t considered the possibility of running into Frankie and his family.

You place your orders, and after a short wait, you secure a spot in the back of the restaurant. Sitting on high metal stools behind a round table, you catch up on the past three months as if you hadn’t texted every other day, speaking with your mouths full, sauce dripping down your fingers.

The life she’s built for herself in New York treats Ava better than anything you could have hoped for, anything you could have helped her achieve, had she stayed here. A job in a cutting-edge art gallery, where her vibrant personality and her flair for networking are not only recognized but valued, a bustling social life, more thrilling projects than you can keep track of, all of it balanced by Polly’s grounding presence by her side.

Your choices and sacrifices, justified.

Ava puts down the crumbling remnants of her vegetarian burrito to wipe her mouth, and takes a sip of her margarita.

“You sure you don’t want to drink anything?”

“I’m drinking something,” you answer, pointing at your iced tea.

“Whatever you say, girl,” she shrugs.

“It’s too bad you’re not staying with me. It’s idiotic, you’re only here for a couple of days and you have to sleep over at Jules’.”

“Listen, even if your douchebag of a fiancé had agreed to have me, which I know he didn’t, I don’t want to see his ass face.”

“Alright,” you concede, “valid.”

She nearly chokes on her margarita. Setting her glass down, she gives you a pointed stare, emphatically scrutinizing your face.

“Okay, seriously, what’s going on with you? How are you? I mean, that’s obviously the wrong question, you’re fucking thriving. What happened? What’s happening? New medication? Are you finally leaving him?”

“I’m not taking any medication,” you answer with unexpected satisfaction. “But no, I’m not leaving him.”

You catch yourself before you can add another word.

“Are you still seeing that other guy?”

You nod, dipping your head, heat creeping up your neck. Why are you like this?

“I take it he likes burritos, am I right?

“You are correct in your assumption, detective,” you quip with a grin.

There’s a pause as Ava seems to consider her next question. It’s always so easy for you to forget that she’s a grownup now. That she knows you at least as well as you know her. That she has the capacity to outsmart you. The notion flares pride in your chest.

“Is he married? Is that why you haven’t run off together in the sunset yet?”

“I’m not sure if he’s married or not.”

“What does he do in life?”

“I don’t know.”

Ava throws up her hands.

“Girl! What do you know?” she exclaims with only half-feigned exasperation.

I know what’s important. He’s a father. He’s a friend and a brother. A pilot and a veteran. He's thoughtful and observant. He’s organized and practical. And a reluctant sentimental. He learned to swim in the Pacific Ocean. He’s capable of cold-blooded violence, but it will break him. He’s capable of infinite tenderness. And it will save him.

You pull a face, communicating how little you care about what you don’t know. Your sister shifts on the hard stool. She frowns, and when she speaks next, her voice is low, her tone conspiratorial.

“Adrian doesn’t suspect anything?”

“Of course, he does. Or he did. His attention is elsewhere, for now. Seems serious.”

“Again?”

“Again,” you nod.

Ava squirms on her stool again, probably trying to restrain her temper.

Your mind wanders, jumping back through time at light-speed, to when you first met Adrian. To the way he used to hold your hand when you started dating, squeezing your fingers with his. Letting you choose the wine, opening doors for you. To the affection in his smile, and how fast he started calling you babe . The glimmer warming his cold blue eyes when he introduced you to his family. The way he leaves the bathroom mirror splattered in toothpaste every time he brushes his teeth. The way he lets his alarm ring off forever after he’s gotten up even if you’re still in bed, even on weekends.

The ease with which he admitted to all his flings, whenever you confronted him, but never confessed to the one with his coworker, the ambitious young lawyer.

Would you admit to having an affair? Would you use that ugly word that make you crawl out of your skin? Would you deny it? Could you answer No, I’m not seeing anyone? Could you bear the betrayal of denying Frankie’s existence? The truth of what you share, but can’t define?

“Your fiancé is a bag of dicks,” Ava finally says, shaking her head.

“His obliviousness suits me for now,” you remind her.

“I don’t understand why you don’t leave him,” she snaps back, forsaking her reserve. “He got his big promotion, he got what he wanted! And Richard loves him, it’s not like he’s going to fire him just because you two broke up, right? You don’t really love him anymore, do you?” she adds on second thoughts.

The words spill out of you unchecked, once more. Just like in the truck with Frankie, back in January. Months, years for the idea to mature below the surface of your conscious thoughts, the reflective process unbeknown to you.

“I’m scared, Ava. I’m scared shitless. I want to leave. I’ve been wanting to leave for so long. Adrian, the company, that fucking ugly apartment.”

“Well then fucking do it, Lee!”

“If I leave, I have nothing. No job, nowhere to go.”

And if you could give up a relatively comfortable life, would you be able to renounce the refuge of your sadness? Of your life between the folds?

“You have money,” Ava counters. “You have shares. Sell them. Richard can’t stop you. Get a lawyer, if you have to. One that’s not on Adrian’s payroll. And then you can fuck your man Friday every day of the week, how’s that?”

You think about the folded bedspread under the windowsill. About the wet hand towel brushing up your skin. The trucker hat on the desk, and his fingers splayed on the steering wheel. The pleading arch of his brow.

You think about that space between Frankie’s chin and collarbone, that contains your safety, your desires, and all of your hopes.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I should leave a man for another one,” you whisper.

Ava’s eyes widen. She sits up straight, a smirk tugging the corner of her lips.

“I don’t know either, but it looks like this one fucked some sense into you. The irony.”

She’s withholding something, you realize. It’s in her uncharacteristic pauses, her sideways glances. Surprisingly, human interactions were simpler when pills kept you numbed and oblivious. Being attuned to everyone’s minute expressions is a daily trial.

“Why don’t you move to New York with us?” she eventually asks. “We can take you in until you find a job there, for as long as you need.”

There’s that we again. People talking about you in your absence, judging your choices, plotting your future.

“I don’t know how to do anything, Ava. I have zero skills.”

“First off, that’s not true,” she retorts, relentless with her well-rehearsed arguments. “And then, Polly can help you find something. Lee, if you can leave this company, there’s literally nothing you can’t do.”

Suddenly, you feel exhausted. Weary and old. A bone-deep lassitude. And at the heart of it, the realization that this is a liminal sequence in your life.

“Is that why you flew here for the weekend? To ask me to come away with you?”

“Are you mad?” she asks with a face. A little girl’s expression, afraid of being scolded. Your little girl.

“No, I’m not mad, pup. I can’t be mad. You came back for me.”

“Of course, I came back for you. I was never going to leave you behind, silly.”

****

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